#idk what the little sharp tooth things name is

[the-pumpkin-knight]

my friend sent me the pilot and i can already tell this is going to run my life for a while

#the amazing digital circus #caine tadc #tadc #tadc caine #the amazing digital circus caine #idk what the little sharp tooth things name is #but it’s caught my attention #i like it

[dimepdf]

can we get some eddie x black! reader, soft, domestic ass smut/fluff🙏🙏 (p.s love your writing!!)

ARE YOU MINE. + EDDIE MUNSON

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? [ ❥ ] synopsis. hi i love your writing sm!! pls could i request an eddie munson fic where the reader loses her virginity to eddie but she struggles a bit bc she was raised super religious so doesn’t really know what she’s doing and feels kinda guilty (kinda angsty/fluffy). pls only write if ur comfortable with this ofc and no worries at all if you don’t! thank you sm 💗 author's note. i felt like i needed to combine these two requests together :) don't forget to join the discord! join here

[ ❥ ] pairing. eddie munson x reader

[ ❥ ] word count. 5k

[ ❥ ] genre and warnings. 18+, black afab reader, established relationship, mentions of religion, first time, corruption kink, tooth rotting fluff, something cute to mend my broken heart, pet names, grinding, vocal Eddie, body worship, cowgirl, age gap (both legal idk how old Eddie is bruh), cuddling, aftercare, domestic vibes

You were used to spending most of your free time watching your boyfriend, Eddie, strumming mindlessly at his guitar.

Eddie sat across his bedroom from you, leaning back against the wall like he was trying to morph himself into the rock posters that were taped to the walls. 

His gaze and attention were fully in his own world as his fingers echoed a tune from the plucked strings.

His legs spread as he sat, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth. Even with a gun to your head, the male hummed a tune from a song you couldn't name.

You could call your relationship pretty simple compared to most teenagers your age, both of you being in your senior year of high school (Eddie being a super senior, but you don't bring it up much). You two had been dating since you had heard whispers of the "Hellfire Club" around the school. 

Going through your rebellious streak, you had decided to bite the bullet and drop out of bible study for activities that broaden your horizons of newer hobbies. Wanting to do things outside of your parent's constant stern and strict approval

You could still recall your friend’s faces watching you plop down at an open seat at the boy's lunch table. Something about your perfect old prompt self butting into their conversations about the next D&D campaign made Eddie instantly choke on his milk.

It took a lot of harassing Eddie during passing periods and sharp-tongued comebacks to gain the trust of all the members of the Hellfire Club. 

You even did some personal study with a list of older campaigns Eddie had scribbled in a notebook during the hours your parents had settled for your bedtime, unaware that you were under the sheets with a flashlight learning how the game worked.

It was fair to say that you were welcomed into the club with open arms after the amount of dedication you had put into wanting to enjoy the game the same way that they did. 

Not long after even gaining Eddie’s respect along the way, it only took your entire junior year to make it as obvious as possible that you had a thing for the long-haired asshole who seemed to always enjoy picking an argument with you. 

Your parents, on the other hand, were not too fond of his appearance. The moment they found out that you were even dating in the first place, they had to forbid you from ever hanging out, let alone playing the so-called devil-worshiping game. 

Your mom lectures you every time she sees traces of him on you. The way you come home flustered, clutching onto your schoolbooks; the cautious glances you would give when she passed by when you were on the phone, whispering how you’d talk to him at school; your flushed, dazed look from just thinking about kissing him.

Your mother snaps at you every time she catches you in that hopelessly romantic trance, her stern voice trying to beat sense into your thick skull. 

"So you think that you're all grown up, huh? That you could just go around and do whatever you want and act like a little floozy like you don’t live under my roof?" Your mother's words snap like a stretched rubber band against your skin.

Your mother has a way with words that makes everything she says stick worse than what the bullies would say to you. 

Your father never says anything, just sits back and watches with a disappointed frown. You had gotten used to the face, the way that your parents would always look down on you for falling in love. 

The lecture would always end with you begging to retreat back into your room, wanting to use your blankets as a shield away from your family as your mother kissed her teeth and berated you when she noticed the fat tears rolling down your cheek, sparing herself from humiliating you any more than she had already done in front of your siblings. 

But alas, the more you’ve hung around Eddie, the more rebellious you’ve gotten, sneaking out and telling your parents excuses for why you were coming home later than you should.

They disapproved of you using your old friend group as a cover-up while you were really in the passenger seat of Eddie’s car, swapping spit with the one boy in town that they disapproved of.

You weren't really bothered by the fact that Eddie wasn't really much of a romantic type. You quickly learn that he expressed his affection through his interests and hobbies. Frequently, he would share his favorite music or even perform personal covers of songs that you liked with his band. 

His love language was also pushing all of your buttons, seeing how far he could stretch you out before you would just tell him off. He thought something about you losing your cool and getting angry with him to the point where you would just snap at him as very attractive. 

You two bickered back and forth more than you kissed or held hands. The arguments were never over anything serious; usually, it was just Eddie wanting to pick a fight with you just for him to give you that sly smirk with his hands grasped at your hips, yanking you into his chest.

Other than him randomly biting into your arm or smacking your thighs as hard as he possibly could, Eddie wasn't much of a touchy guy. You didn't push him too much, not expecting him to be much of a charming prince. 

You just loved him for who he was, especially since he was your first actual boyfriend as well as you being his first actual girlfriend.

For Eddie, being in a relationship with you was just like being more flirty with a best friend who he had thought was attractive.

But he looks at you like he was in love like it was his first time opening his eyes. You had gotten used to the smitten look of the riddler all over his face. You'd often catch him staring at you as if staring at you was his favorite pastime. 

He loved watching how the sunlight would filter through your dark curls, making them look like they were some sort of halo that framed your face. He loved watching the millions of emotions your face would form. 

He loved how your big black eyes and thick eyelashes fluttered when you caught him staring at you.

Eddie had fallen in love with how your cocoa butter-coated skin almost seemed to sparkle with a warm brown glow under the sun, how your full two-toned colored lips would form every word like you had meant everything you had spoken. 

Eddie had it so bad for you. It all just happened so fast for him that he couldn't even remember a time that he didn't want to be stuck to you like glue. 

Which was why it wasn't really intended for you both to be virgins for this long.

Sure, you two had your fair share of sneaky back seat handjobs and the time you had him bite into your shoulder during his first blowjob because his uncle was in the other room and God knew Eddie couldn't help himself but to sound like a modern-day whore getting his dick stroked by you.

It was also because you had grown up in a household where having sex was pretty taboo. 

The more you realized it, the more it sort of settled that you and your parents had a different view of the religion that you believed in.

You didn't understand the whole "wait until marriage" argument considering that your father was twice divorced before he had met your mother. 

You just knew that abstinence wasn't just something you wanted to practice, not much of a big deal, but you knew that your parents would lose their heads if they found out that their little girl was planning on being plowed by the town "Satanist" Eddie Munson.

You couldn't talk to anyone about the weird feelings you had or how to handle them. It took you a while to realize that you were just sexually frustrated.

Both of you were kind of emotionally unavailable and too scared to come off as too soft or clingy, even to each other. It was like a battle for dominance. Eddie being as competitive as you were, it was like a game seeing who would be the first to crack. 

It was like a battle you had sadly lost due to your extreme teenage hormones.

Watching the strum of Eddie’s fingers against the guitar, a growing hunger festered in the lower part of your body. Something about watching his hands had switched something in you.

“Hey Eds”

“Hm?”

"Do you think we can…have sex?" Your tone was flat as your words sort of mumbled together with the fingernail you were trying to bite off, Eddie’s mind instantly going into restart mode as he paused.

His hands were still hovering over the guitar before blinking. You were watching as his head snapped to peer across the room at you, his brows twitching in anticipation of what you asked as if he had heard it by mistake. 

You felt ready, having been dating for almost three years. Your hormones were raging as you wanted nothing more than to go all the way with your boyfriend, and you felt like he was ready too, or so you thought as you flinched, hearing the sharp snap of one of the guitar strings, your eyes widening as you watched Eddie in silent panic.

"Shit, uh, I mean–" As he shot up from his seat, he felt like he had made things awkward. It's not like you had suddenly blurted it out unprompted.

As Eddie hung the guitar upon its mound, he turned towards you, hesitating to speak as he just sighed, taking a seat next to you on his twin-sized bed. 

Because you were afraid that the way he was acting would lead to a breakup, you weren't sure what to do with yourself. Your thoughts were going in the worst possible direction.

"Like, right now?" With his eyes squinting, Eddie asked in a more gentle manner while wiping his sweaty hands along the front of his denim jeans.

"Uh, yeah, sure," you nod.

"Oh... okay." was his final reply, as you couldn't help but laugh at how awkward the situation was being played out.

"Okay?" you dragged out, teasing him, reaching to playfully lean into his shoulder, earning one of his many usual eye rolls in response. 

"I do want to, you just kind of blurted it out and caught me off guard." Chuckling as your boyfriend's face turned a faint shade of pink and his hands began tensely rubbing his bangs.

"I mean, if you’re, like, ready to, then I'm ready." You nodded at his rambling. Both of you were too embarrassed to notice what was happening, so there was a nervous pause in the air.

You tried not to look completely out of it, your heel tapping repeatedly against the carpeted floors, still biting around the skin of your nails. 

"Yeah, okay, cool." you hummed, suddenly Eddie raising his brows at your sudden change of mood from nervous to frantic. A hand gliding over your thigh ripped you from the cloud of worry that stormed over your head. 

“What's wrong angel, talk to me.” 

"I don’t know, I just don’t want it to be like a huge thing, you know?" You didn’t want it to seem like a big deal, knowing that inside your mind was racing with thoughts about what your parents would think of you if they had found out.

They had already disapproved of Eddie. You could already see the faces of horror on your parent's faces if they ever found out about the sexual thoughts you hadn't even had with him. 

"Hey, hey, we don’t have to do it." 

"No, no, I do want to. I want you, Eddie." Your hand rested on the curve of his shoulder.

"Really?" As he tangled his fingers between yours, a toothy grin crept across his lips. Your lips curled into a perplexed grin.

"Yeah, I really want to do this with you." You softly chuckled, the tone in the room shifting to much more comfort. You were both suddenly aware of the sound of your breathing and the gulp Eddie took in a nervous state. 

The smile he gave you was one that you rarely saw on his face. The one that he would only show when he thought no one was looking; the one that he would only show to the people he was most comfortable with beaming at you.

"Okay, well, uh…thanks?" he murmured, inciting another soft laugh from your lips. Both of you were looking in the direction of the TV that sat in front of the TV. A kissing scene played out in front of the unattended movie.

"So...how about we just take it a bit slow?" His tone shifted to something more seductive, his stare suggestive as you allowed him to take the lead, his face leaning in closer to you.

"How about we, uh, touch first, or do you just tell me what you want? Does that sound good to you?" You glanced down at your lap, watching his fingertips dip into the plush of your thigh, his hand lingering just inches away from where you needed it the most.

"I don't—" your voice trailed off. "I’ve never touched myself before." Eddie’s face lifted in surprise, his eyes lighting up.

"Should I feel weird for finding that really hot?" You giggled at his honest reaction, the low voice in the back of your head spewing out doubts and unnecessary worries in the back of your mind being strung out one by one the more Eddie made an effort to comfort you. 

The ones that hurt the most were the thoughts that Eddie was just too good for you, and that your relationship was too perfect to be true.

He would ultimately choose a flawless pale white skinned girl with a better figure or a prettier girl who wasn't compelled by her parents to attend church every weekend, missing out on every band performance he would have. 

You knew it wasn't fair to be insecure about yourself, your melanin color, your black ringlets of hair, it wouldn't be fair to pick at all the things about yourself that you just couldn't change. 

You never thought of yourself as ugly; it was just how you appeared to others while living in a town with a majority of white people where being a minority was uncommon. You were aware that you couldn't blame the outside world for how alone you felt in Hawkins.

You were just…different. You didn't blame most boys in your grade for picking on you for the shape of your nose or the size of your lips.

You couldn't blame them. There were children not aware of the hateful comments that they would painlessly speak that would carry on until their teenage years.

You felt unseen most of your life, hiding behind that row of girls that just fit the beauty standard for perfection.

You had thought that you would spend your entire life in Hawkins, always hanging out on the sidelines and living curiously through all of your best friend’s romantic relationships. 

Having to hype them up every time they bring up going on dates or being asked out by boys that you knew wouldn't bother to give you the time of day without any ulterior motives until Eddie welcomed you into his life. 

He treated you as though you were meant to be his destiny and that the only reason you two had come into contact was that fate had sent you to earth as an angel. 

Eddie hoped for miracles his entire life. He hoped that he would finally finish high school after being held back, that he would save up enough money to finally move out of his rusted cheap trailer and into an actual house, and that his band would finally get the recognition that they deserved, but all of that came in the form of you.

He swore that his miracle was you. If he could, he would have given whatever god was listening to a firm handshake for blessing him with you. He thought about it once, like Eddie actually thought about going to church with you by his side. 

Driving past the street in his van, he spots you and your family all hurrying out of your father's car, all dressed up with frails and skin-colored stockings.

He wanted to stop and park his car across the street, trying to scramble up words to form the perfect greeting he would speak to your parents.

And then he realizes how drastically different your life was compared to his. You had a big loving family, siblings that were always in your business, and parents that would crack the whip on you just for putting a toe out of line. You were formed and built up into this perfect black woman. 

Eddie was astounded that someone so perfect in his eyes could be in love with him like you were.

But there you were, sitting with your thighs straddled at his sides. Your arms hung over his shoulders, with your lips against his mouth.

Your life depends on it. Eddie had to convince himself many times in your relationship that he wasn't dreaming, that you weren’t actually some angel gifted to him by a higher power. 

Eddie didn't believe in God as you did, but if he was up there, boy, were him and Eddie bound to be homies. His breath hitched at the feeling of your trailing fingers lingering down his chest, inching towards his lap, between your legs. "My god, you just…do something to me..." Eddie moans against your lips. 

"You just make it so hard…to not absolutely want to…ruin you." His words alone sent a shiver up your spine. The shameless feeling of your back arching into the warmth of his broad chest, your big doe eyes peering into his didn't help his case at all. 

"You're just so beautiful." Grinding your hips onto his lap. Feeling just how hard his erection felt as it pushed against the rough material of his jeans his hips coaxed into rutting against the plush of your thigh.

"You think I'm pretty?" Your concern about being unable to recognize your own true beauty is painfully innocent. Your gentle voice nearly caused Eddie's heart to break.

"Y/N, you're the most gorgeous girl I've ever laid my eyes on." Eddie watched in a deep trance as you took your bottom lip between your teeth and glanced down away from his gaze shyly.

Your hips roll forward against his tented jeans. His fingers dug into your hips, a sound of bliss leaving his mouth as his head tilted up to chase after your lips once more. 

You shifted against his lap once more, just the whimpering sounds he was making just because of you were intoxicating to hear. 

As you both carved the feeling of each other Eddie couldn't yet map out all the things he had wanted to do to you but he just knew that he needed you against him as nakes as he possibly could.

You felt his fingers slowly hooking under the hem of your collared shirt, the brush of his cold fingers colliding with the hot skin of your lower belly. 

"Can I?" You could only nod as the words felt stuck in your throat, unbutton the top of your shirt before you could guide his hands to grab the material of your shirt. 

He helped you yank the shirt over your head and toss it aside against the floor, his eyes instantly glued to the plain pink cotton bra that you wore.

You just looked too good, almost good enough to eat. Not that Eddie didn't want to eat you, he just wanted to go as slowly as possible to take everything in. 

When his hands hover over the curves of your breast, you reach out to guide his hands and place them on your chest like a breath of relief.

The foggy look in his stare almost made you laugh, like he was starving to finally get his hands on every part of your body, wanting to worship every curve and mark, squeezing and fondling your breasts to his heart's content.

“Is this okay?” He asked with his fingers under the shoulder strap of your bra, his fingers twisting the elastic and fiddling with the plastic clasp that held it all together.

You nodded, shredding off your shoulder, and twisted the bra to the front of your chest, unclasping it with one hand, and just like your shirt, you let Eddie take it off and toss it aside with your shirt.

“Can you—can you touch them?” You murmured. Eddie wasn’t one to always be obedient, but the way you spoke to him was doing wonders for the growing problem in his groin. He dove his face into your chest, his mouth trailing wet kisses in the crevice of your chest, as per your request.

His finger held you down from squirming in his lip as this tongue reached the bud of your nipple. Sucking and swirling his warm, wet tongue over the perky bud, you whimpered from the contact, ducking your head away as your hand covered your mouth to prevent making any more embarrassingly lewd noises. 

“Can you touch me too, please?” His words were bold and straight to the point, despite the slight slur from his lips being wrapped around your boob. When you saw the spit string connecting his lips to your nipple, your mind went into overdrive. 

Your fingers were trembling as they unzipped the front of his jeans. Eddie drew his jeans past his knees, his hand bringing yours beneath the elastic cuff of his briefs to the pulsing girth of his crotch.

His hips buckled from just the simple contact of your hand, finally giving him the attention that he begged for. 

“God, angel, do you feel what you do to me?” His tone was so eager that you had found it adorable how needy you both were for each other.

From the material of his underwear, he unleashes his cock. Your fingers were wrapped around his length, listening to the low whimper from Eddie like it was music to your ears, curling into your touch, stroking your hand as your fingers were already sticky with his precum dripping from the tip of his cock. 

"Um, do you have a condom?" There was a pause after your question, Eddie panting as he squinted his eyes at you like so much blood had rushed to his dick that his brain was delaying everything else. 

“The—in my nightstand.” He finally answered as you hopped off of his lap and crawled to the side of the mattress, your hand fishing for the big rectangle box of rubbers.

Your eyes widened at the XL label, slowly glancing back at Eddie as he shrugged his shoulders. His breath was still heavy from just wanting to touch you again. 

You definitely weren't allowed to touch another condom again. Your first attempt of trying to open the plastic wrapping with your teeth ended with you ripping the condom inside in half.

Your second attempt wasn't much better. Your hands were slippery from the lube that had gotten on your fingers. Just as you twisted your fingers around the plastic to tear it, your fingers slipped away from the wrapper and collided with Eddie’s nose. 

Your boyfriend huffs in laughter before snatching the wrapper from your hands and putting on the condom himself.

You were comfortable enough to laugh about it, Eddie trying to soothe you as much as possible with the warm feeling of his hands rubbing against the top of your thigh as you shed your underwear and positioned yourself over the tip of his cock. 

"Oh, s—shit," Eddie grunted when you lowered yourself onto his shaft, your arms trembling as you used your thighs to hold yourself up with your head tucked into his shoulder. 

Eddie let you set your own pace, his hands fisting by his side into the bed sheets as his face scutched in bliss from the feeling of you struggling to take just his tip inside of you. 

The feeling of your heart beating so hard that he could feel it against his chest, his arm snaking around the curve of your waist to help you balance yourself out, listening to every small nose that parted from your lips. 

As you shifted your hips to slowly take all of him, coaxing the same moan from each other, Eddie rested his head against your chest, pulling you in closer, practically hugging you as if his entire cock hadn't been buried inside of you. 

The feeling of him stretching the warmth of your walls makes you feel light-headed. You wanted your body to get used to the size of him as quickly as possible, taking much more than what you had expected. 

Your face twisting in pain as you squirm in his lap, trying to get rid of the sting of pain from slamming down on him with little preparation. “Take it at your own pace angel, you can take it.” Eddie encouraged you from below, leaning up to kiss you, using his mouth to relieve some of the pain, dividing your attention between your tongue invading his mouth. 

Your hips stuttered, raising them slowly before starting a more stable pace. The creak in his cheap box spring was almost as long as Eddie’s moans as you rode him.

He tightens his grip around your waist, restarting himself to not snap his hips to match your pace, wanting you to have full control for your first time. 

"Hmm—so big Eds," you mumbled, the fan of your breath against his ear, slamming your hips and grinding against him. He felt like he was going to pass out as he had died, and the pearly white gates were the spread of your thighs, and his heaven was the feeling of your cunt squeezing around his cock. 

"You feel so good, Y/N," Eddie rasped. "So fucking perfect." His words of encouragement make you feel drunk just from his words.

Your hips rocking at your own pace, it was starting to become unbearable on Eddie’s side of things. His hips were trembling to the sound of your wet folds struggling to take him all the way down to the base. 

The cool metal from his fingers brushed against the warm skin of your thighs, his hips shifting up almost like he was struggling to restrain himself.

You looked down and instantly recognized the pleading look, the look that told you that he needed every inch of you. Your lips met in approval as his hips bucked up into yours at his own pace.

Your head drops in pleasure, resting your forehead against his shoulder, your moans echoing like a sweet tone in his ears.

He could feel the trembling in your legs, struggling to hold himself up as he had his way with you. Eddie decides to give you a bit of mercy, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible. 

The moment he pulls out of you, your insides feel weird, like a ghost of him still lingering inside of you pulling away as he picks you up by your thighs with a grunt, shifting your position so that you lie with your back against the mattress. 

There was a cute moment when the tip of his cock pressed against your opening, a dopey grin on his face being replaced with a moan that fell in rhythm with yours. You both feel reconnected, he slides his entire length back inside of you where you thought he belonged all along.

"You feel so fucking good," Eddie whimpered, his voice low. "You gotta let yourself go, Angel. Come on, I know you want to." leaning down as you chased after his lips, kissing him deeply.

His tongue slid into your mouth, parting your lips as the rough skin of his thumb rubbed rough circles against your clit. You had to reach your hand and place him in the right position, but it was the thought that mattered the most to you.

The new sensation is enough to drive you over the edge, and Eddie is watching your body tense and tighten from under him. The feeling of you squeezing around his cock, drawing out his own orgasm, his thrusts stuttering as he continued to ride out yours. 

His fist clenched around the blanket just beside your head as he ducked into the crook of your neck.

Grunting against your neck with every thrust, his orgasm untumbled the feeling from his eyelashes fluttering from squeezing his eyes closed as he fell limp against your chest, a breath being thrown from your lungs.

You couldn't help but laugh to the best of your ability.

The feeling of Eddie laying his entire weight against you wasn’t something that you were a stranger to, it was just the first time you’d done it while being naked and him not threatening to throw you into a headlock.

Watched him struggle to stand on his own two feet, his thighs clenching as he stumbled to throw the condom away before you could peel back the blankets and slip between the bed sheets holding the blanket up as Eddie crawled to lay in front of you.

Lying on your side, your arms encircling his torso as you put your head on his shoulder and savor the warmth of his body.

Your thumb felt at ease touching his arm. "I feel like I could totally last longer than that, by the way." You chuckled, reaching your leg over his and hooking the bend of your knee into his thigh to cuddle closer to him. 

"Well, my parents think I’m at band practice, so we have the rest of the afternoon."

[ ❥ ] taglist. @prettyeyedmaureen @torynicholsgf @bucky-daddy-barnes @eldriidd @ycarlii @guitarromantic @lafresamilk @haechaniebom @hello-1000 @biggestslutever @eddiesbitchx @slvdsjjk @stitched-mouth @misaamaneswifey @kiszkathecook @imahoforthings @kyyellaxi @hotgirlsshareaccounts @lonesomewitchking @itsthedoctah10 @crypticlxrsh @kotaiden @ang3l1te @cybergnf @notbeforelong @eddiemunsonswife36 @thegirlbeyondtheuniverse @snailchess @livvie-jpg @killjoys-n-whovians @xiichao @joletown

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#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ] #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson smut #stranger things 4 #netflix #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson stranger things #st4 #eddie munson concept #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #black reader

[paperstarwriters]

I swear someone before me probably mentioned this but I don't care I'm bringing it up again because I just really really cannot get the idea out of my head.

[angst warning & also I just scribbled this down idk if it makes sense lol]

But like, what if Inanna was Muriel's mother's name? Or like, if not his mother, then something that sounds like his mother's name or his father's name.

like I know that Inanna is often represented as a sister to Muriel almost, but I can't help but feel like she's more like an older sister. Sometimes playful and silly but also sometimes very parental and caring, and I really just think it's because that's what Muriel needed in a companion when he left the coliseum.

But like yeah. What if Inanna was a name really close to his mother's name, what if it was his mother's name. What if in the Arcana realms Muriel's mom watches him from somewhere in the moon's realm between realities with a hand in the heart of his familiar making sure that he is loved, if not by herself, then at least by his familiar, and if not by that, then a friend.

Like I don't know what's better or what's worse, Muriel just by chance naming the wolf he has such a deep connection with Inanna, maybe because he had a dream and remembered her from somewhere, or if Inanna told him her name, or at least the closest thing she had to a name or something idk.

Idk it's probably just me and I'm probably just reaching hear but.... it's just Inanna—and especially her nickname Nana—feels so close to the tagalog word "nanay" meaning mother and I just hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Imagine that in that first year after he first escaped with Inanna. Imagine her telling him her name or him giving her that name and the faint little twinge of familiarity with that name, as if he's always known it—something he assumes is because of familiars or something. Imagine him trying and failing to go to sleep after running, too wound up and anxious about it all, expecting to hear the sound of soldiers with their sharp staffs and shining armor to drag him back where he belongs to kill Inanna and bring him back. Imagine him fearing the day that Lucio would just kick down his door and do all of that alone.

Imagine Inanna resting her head on his chest, trying to get him to breathe, Imagine her acting as a pillow, letting him hug her, and sob into her fur. Imagine her licking away his tears when he wakes up from a nightmare. Imagine her trying and failing to get him something to eat, because she knows that a pup needs to eat after they've been hurt in order to heal up quicker, but from what she's seen he needs to have his food cooked and she can't cook so she's always pacing by his bedside helpless to encourage him to eat, helpless to get him to eat more.

Imagine how Inanna had fought tooth and nail to protect him against Lucio, only to fail. Imagine how scared Inanna had been when her little brother, her son, her pup, her best friend was bleeding out in the forest, refusing her help and trying to chase her away so she'd be protected. Imagine her relief when you finally come along and do your magic. Her joy and pride when you two become tentative friends, even if Muriel is bristly the entire time.

Imagine all the quippy remarks Inanna makes to Muriel on his new friend, she teases him the way a mother does, or how a sister does, and how it all only serves to make him even more embarrassed. Imagine her, not only showing the both of you wolf pups in the forest to lift your spirits (and introduce Muriel to those who Inanna sees as his cousins maybe lol) but also showing you herbs found in these colder regions beneath the snow, showing you the faeries that linger in this portion of the forest. Showing you, though she cannot explain, things that Muriel would have known if he hadn't been ripped away from her arms.

Imagine Inanna's fear when the both of you disappeared into the arcana realms. When she worried about her little brother vanished into thin air, into a place filled with magic and strange fae. Imagine that second voice that always sat at the back of her mind just a pace or two away reassuring her that they will be cared for.

and you know all those times that Inanna worms her way into Muriel & MC's lap—most notably that one time during the death book? as they sit and huddle by the fire and wait out the winter storm? I can't help but imagine that's Inanna's attempt at a hug, that as the both of you keep each other warm she wants to be able to put effort into keeping you warm as well (and maybe because she wants extra warmth as well lol)

and then at the end of everything, at the end of all of it, when you putter around the hut helping Muriel cook food, threats of Lucio and threats of the devil both long gone and long lost, Inanna watches wagging her tail against the floorboards as she watches the both of you putter around and cook a hearty meal. The bulk of it, she knows is because you both want to be kind to each other. Muriel, she knows intends to make sure you're at least well fed, even if he is not, but you intend to make sure he is well fed and Inanna intends to help.

and just imagine, on occasion as you cook, a little idea slips into her mind and she rummages around the herbs and vegetables that you have in store, to bring you an ingredient that you're missing that would make the dish taste better, or an ingredient that she'd use to make it taste like home. Imagine her reveling in this small chance to share with Muriel her culture, knowing that someday soon, you'll show up, and someday soon, she'll be brave enough, or powerful enough, or whatever-defficiency-held-her-back-the-first-time enough to meet her son and properly hold her baby boy.

But for now, Inanna curls around him as the both of you sit by the fire place. And a sister sits by her brother, and a mother holds her son.

#I made myself sad writing this :( #the arcana #muriel #Inanna #inanna the wolf #the arcana inanna #inanna the arcana #x reader #reader insert #Muriel x reader #Muriel the arcana #Muriel #the arcana muriel #the arcana muriel x reader

[hopeswriting]

Random khr questions because the Boi™ is on my mind and you indeed do characterization beautifully. (You should be proud and you should brag about it :3)

Given that Hibari is feral to some degree at the very least, do you think he'd be fine with camping in the wilderness for some time? Do you think he'd hunt his own food?

Canonically his favourite food is Hamburger Steaks, but what other foods do you think he likes? He is weak for the traditional aesthetic, so do you think this applies to food as well? Or is his secret, guiltiest pleasure just putting on a disguise and going to fast food restaurants late at night after a long patrol?

What do you think?

And may I send more somewhat silly Hibari-questions into your ask box? 🥺

hi, thank you for the ask!

aw, thank you! 🥺💖 (😳🥰)

i think he'd be fine with it, yeah, but he wouldn't necessarily like it. but he'd be able to put up with it, especially if there's something else in it he most definitely likes doing. i'm thinking of when dino trained him during the varia arc, taking him away from namimori in various natural landscapes. and if it wasn't for hibari getting to try to bite him to death to his heart's content while they were there, i do think he'd have thrown a tantrum and been difficult about needing to camp outside sooner than later lol.

and tbh generally speaking i think that's the rule of thumb with him! there's not a chance in hell he'll do something he doesn't want to do and/or dislike doing, EXCEPT if, 1) it's something he needs to do and/or can't be done by anyone else but him (like the more civilized part of the disciplinary committee work lol, or, in a way, him being the cloud's guardian LOL), and 2) it's still something he doesn't want to do and/or dislike doing, BUT. there's something fun in it for him to do too, that either evens out or outweighs the sucky part of the thing. (to use the same example again, during the varia arc, he only put up with dino acting as his tutor because he got to fight him while he did.) the CATCH tho, is that the second the fun thing does not even out the sucky thing, let alone outweigh it, all bets are fucking off. see him breaking his watch during the rainbow arc, with no regards whatsoever for fon. (he's SUCH a little shit, i love him.)

i could see him hunting his own food, yeah! idk about him going through with the kill tho. i mean, i know it's only ever said he likes little animals, but i think he has a soft spot for animals as a whole. so unless absolutely necessary (namely if he's by himself, and, you know, needs to eat and there's no other food around), i feel like he'd let that part to someone else.

that said, he most definitely enjoys hunting them and backing them into a corner. not in any malicious way, but just to asset his dominance as the apex predator in the area lol. he totally lets them go after that. and even makes sure to get back in their good graces again after that. the way he sees it, it's just a fun bonding activity that lets both of them keep their skills sharp, because of course he does, you know how he is lol.

i do think so, yeah!! he has a soft spot for traditional food and enjoys it the most, but generally speaking i feel like he just really loves warm, homemade food prepared with care and love. which is why he makes kusakabe cook his favorite meal for him haha. i also want to say that... i could see that being something he associates with an act and show of love. i mean, cooking is absolutely a love language, right? so someone cooking for him would be them caring for him, and him trusting someone to cook for him according to his tastes and eat it would be him also caring for them. (wait, this is kinda sweet actually. 🥺💖)

what other foods he likes... oh, i'm terrible at stuff like this zedfcgvh!! but, well, cold desserts, maybe? and he hasn't much of a sweet tooth, but when he craves it, it solely happens through desserts. if he likes hamburger steak most, then i guess he's a meat guy too. definitely a warm drinks guy too, tea, and maybe coffe too tyl. uhhhh, idk, snacks too? i mean, biting all those people to death on the daily and all day long would require energy, so i'm sure kusakabe makes sure he replenishes it between one beating and another lol. hibari also makes sure to have and keep a healthy diet, but in a casual way. not too casual of course, he needs and would want to keep his body in shape and at maximum capacity, but no doubt in a more casual way than ryohei or yamamoto lol.

as for fast foods, only on occasion, and the rare type of occasions, re: healthy diet and him liking homemade food. and, you know, for me it wouldn't necessarily be him being hungry after a long patrol at night. i firmly believe that in such cases, if there's even just the slightest possibility to make it happen at all, he'd rather wake kusakabe up to cook him food with absolutely no remorse whatsoever. 😭😂

he likes and respects fast foods as places and a type of restaurants tho! because you can just walk inside them alone, and sit at a table alone, and eat alone before leaving, and no one bats an eye at it or thinks anything about it, and everyone lets you be because that's literally not uncommon whatsoever. he definitely doesn't like or respect the noise and crowd as much lol, but as long as it's not too much, i could see him put up with it just to enjoy a little more his time there.

on the note of him disliking crowds, maybe like, seven out of ten, he goes for delivery. he's also that much more likely to accept a fast food invitation (yes i'm thinking of the 10th gen haha) if you tell him you'll eat it some place quiet and cozy and he's comfortable and familiar in, and where they won't be too much people. (fast food night at tsuna's place, anyone?)

so in that way i don't think it'd be a guilty pleasure of his, but instead a pretty well-known fact about him. but if i should give him a food-related guilty pleasure, i honestly think it'd be something he's allergic to. like, he's lactose intolerant or something, and he doesn't care zerdfghhg. he's still stealthy about it and hides it from everyone, but only because he's annoyed to death by the nagging. it's not like he'll die from it, so what's the big deal? he only gets a little sick, get over it. he will keep having his milk and cheese and whatnot, just watch him.

you may absolutely send me more hibari questions!! my ask box is always open and welcomes everyone for any kind of questions. 😊💖

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #khr headcanons #hibari kyoya #khr asks #loneliestmuffin

[idy-ll-ique]

Things I Like About You.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, fluff, fluff

Warnings: mentions of nightmares

Requested: nope

Summary: Bucky makes a list of 18 things that he likes about Y/N, starting with her voice.

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! idk how this idea came to me but I decided to proceed with it anyway lmao. enjoy!

---

The first thing he liked about her was her voice. Just smooth, soft, a little raspy but it made his heart flutter as he walked to the communal area with Steve, his best friend. As they neared the room her voice became louder, turned more melodic. Singing, she was singing a song. A wave of pleasure washed over him when he heard her but he concealed it easily.

The second thing he liked about her was her face. When he and Steve walked into the communal area her back was to them, and she was still singing. For a minute they just listened as Y/N hit all the notes correctly; only then did Steve cut her off by clearing his throat. She whirled around and his breath caught in his lungs.

She had the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen on anyone. They were simply perfect and when they narrowed as she smiled widely, he was done for. Her nose was perfect, her pretty lips were perfect, her teeth were perfect, her hair was perfect and literally everything else about her was just perfect. "Hi Steve, Mr Barnes!" She greeted them enthusiastically.

That was the third thing he liked about her, her personality. She was not too loud, not too quiet, not too brazen, not too prude… simply marvellous. "Hey, Y/N! You can call him Bucky, you know." She glanced at him and his eyes went wide on their own accord as he nodded, agreeing with Steve. Then she gave him another smile.

Oh boy, I'm in trouble. "Fine, Bucky. It's very nice to meet you." She held her hand out and that was the fourth thing he liked about her; the feel of her skin. Just like her voice, her skin was smooth and buttery, so soft that for a moment, he almost didn't want to blemish her beautiful skin by touching her. But he still gingerly took her hand, shaking it.

He did not trust his voice; he knew that if he tried to speak, he'd just squeak out some nonsense. Where is my 40s charm?! Just when you need it… He gave her a polite nod as they shook hands and Steve sighed on his right. "Sorry, it takes him a while to, you know, speak in front of the others…" Y/N waved him off easily.

"I understand, Steve. Let him take his time, no rush." She gave him another smile and this time, he found himself smiling back. "Your smile is wonderful," she told him, which caused his smile to widen involuntarily. "So is yours," he rasped and there it was: the fifth thing he liked about her. Her blush. She went red and rubbed the back of her neck.

"Thank you, Bucky." He had never liked his name more. "Well, now that you two have been introduced, I guess I can go. Think you can take it from here, Buck?" He nodded but the truth was that no, no he couldn't take it. Alone with her? What if he did something embarrassing and drove her off? "Shall we sit?"

She gestured to the couches and he nodded, both of them sitting next to each other. The sixth thing he liked about her, her posture. Back straight, ankles crossed, hands folded neatly on her lap, she looked like a Royal. There were no words spoken in the first five minutes but Y/N didn't get up, she knew it always took him some time. She'd be there for him.

"You sing wonderfully," he blurted out and she turned to look at him with the smile he was quickly getting obsessed with. I'm gonna have to make her smile more often. "Oh, thank you so much!" He gave her a smile of his own and looked down at his lap. "How are you doing today?" He looked back up. "I'm doing well, you?" She nodded and giggled.

"Sorry, didn't know what else to ask." The seventh thing he liked about her, her giggle. Her laugh, in general. "It's okay, darling," he grinned lazily and watched as she blushed again at the nickname. Maybe he won't embarrass himself after all. "So, are you new on the team?" he asked her and she shook her head.

"I'm not on the team, actually. I'm just good friends with the Avengers, I don't fight. I own a bakery down the street," she told him and he hummed. "A bakery? Sounds just as sweet as you," he flirted easily and watched how she went red again. "You're too flattering," she mumbled and he shook his head. "You deserve it."

"I was actually wondering when I'd get to meet you, but Steve told me I'd have to wait before you were ready," she blurted out, suddenly nervous. He cleared his throat and looked away. "Sorry." She placed a hand on his shoulder and his head snapped towards her, making her drop her hand. But he gently took it and returned it to his shoulder, giving her a shy smile.

"Hey, no, don't apologize. I have a PhD in Psychology, you know, I know you needed time. I was willing to wait longer," she told him and he felt his heart flutter. Mama, I found my wife. "You have a PhD and yet you opened a bakery?" She flushed deeper. "I just like baking. I have had my bakery before I even started my first year at the university."

"That's wonderful. So, uh, the Avengers, they visit often?"

"Yes, oh my God! After every damn mission. Steve and Sam were there the last time, yesterday, when they came back. Finished two dozen of my muffins, had to bake more in the middle of the night to restock." The eighth thing he liked about her, the way she complained, how her nose scrunched and she pulled a face.

He couldn't help but laugh. "They do have a sweet tooth," he pointed out and there it was; the ninth thing he liked about her— her pout. "Still! I lost a lot of sleep," she huffed. "I'd like to visit your bakery too, doll. Have an address?" She immediately reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out a slightly crumpled business card.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry!" she hissed, noticing the state her card was in but he didn't care in the least. I'm going to keep this paper with me till the end of my life. "It's not a problem at all, doll." Then he examined the card, smirking at the name of the bakery. "The Sweet Spot, huh? Wonder where yours is," he spoke effortlessly, eyes still on the card.

He heard a choking noise and turned to see Y/N laughing behind her hands, barely able to contain herself. "Aren't you just smooth, Barnes," she replied evenly and all he wanted to do at the moment was haul her over his shoulder, take her to his bedroom and never leave. "I was known to be quite charming in the 40s," he winked and she giggled more.

"I would've loved to see that." Soon, she checked her watch and clicked her tongue, standing up. "My bakery opens in 15 minutes, I have to go. It was nice to meet you, Bucky." She simply stood there, fidgeting and that worried him. "Doll?" Her eyes met his. "Sorry, um, I was thinking… should I hug him or shake his hand? Probably should've—"

Without another word he pulled her in his arms and the tenth thing he liked about her? Her hugs. She easily slid her arms around his torso, pressed her face into his chest— being shorter than him— and squeezed. His vibranium hand cradled her head and the flesh one went around her shoulder, returning the squeeze.

The hug was longer than necessary, not that either of them complained. When she pulled away, both of them exchanged huge smiles. He felt lighter and happier than he had in years, even though he was attending therapy now. "Bye, Bucky! See you later!" Oh see you later alright, he visited the bakery just an hour later.

---

A sharp knock on the door to her apartment startled her. She checked the time; it was 2 am. Dread filled her entire body as she slowly made her way to the living room, peeking out of the peephole. The dread washed away entirely as she opened the door and swiftly pulled the man inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Bucky?"

"I needed you," he spoke hoarsely. Y/N noticed the dark circles under his eyes, his bloodshot eyes, his tousled hair and his dirty clothes. He had been gone on a mission for the past 5 months; they met 7 months ago. 5 months? Who has a mission that long? The Avengers, that's who. Bucky and Y/N had bonded quite well in the small amount of time.

There were many more things he realized he liked about her; her dancing, her cooking, her apartment, the smell of her laundry detergent, her caring nature, her jokes, her— "Bucky? Bubba, did you hear me?" He blinked a few times and offered her a sheepish smile, shaking his head. "I said, take a bath. I'll leave you some clothes outside."

He agreed instantly and went to her bathroom, hopping in for a quick wash. He cleaned himself with her body wash; it smelled like lavender that calmed him. He had missed her a lot. On the way back home all he could think about was her. He wanted— no, he needed to hold her as he slept to ensure he didn't wake up screaming.

After the shower as he put on the clothes she left for him, he realized something. Walking into the only bedroom in the apartment he saw her looking up from her phone. "Yes, Buck?" He hadn't permitted Sam to call him that, even though he had known the man longer than he had Y/N. "Are these Steve's clothes?"

She went pink and stammered. Bucky's brows furrowed. "Are you dating Steve?" he blurted out and her eyes went wide. "No, I've never dated Steve. It's just that… one time he was on a mission and he needed some place to hide and live for a few days. He lived with me. He left his bag behind and I kept the clothes, for situations like these."

He could tell she was telling the truth. The seventeenth thing he liked about her was her honesty. "Oh, okay." Suddenly a smirk came over her face, which made him nervous. "Were you jealous, Barnes?" It was his turn to blush and he went 10 shades darker than she had. "I— I mean, I— I wasn't, I— I was—" he stammered and she laughed.

"I was kidding! Get in the bed, we're going to sleep." He felt nervous again. "I, um, actually had a… favour, if it's not much, uh, if you don't agree I'll take the couch I promise, but I—" She shushed him. "Spit it out." He exhaled. "Can I… maybe… snuggle with you? While we sleep? Please?" He sounded so soft that all Y/N wanted to do was tell him how much she liked him and cuddle him to death.

"Of course! If it makes you feel better, sure, we can do that. Get in." He took off his t-shirt, hurriedly explaining that he couldn't sleep in them but she brushed him off. He got into the bed next to her and tentatively held his hand out, grinning to himself when she snuggled into his side with a soft sigh.

"You're so warm. It's perfect," she breathed out. Bucky never wanted to let go. "Goodnight, doll," he whispered and pressed a soft kiss to her head as both of them drifted off to dreamland. Bucky dreamt of her. The seventeen things he liked about her as of yet, with many more to come. Like maybe the way she tasted.

The way she would feel under him, around him… He gulped and rid himself of the thoughts; he didn't want a boner right now. You've known this woman for 7 months! Calm down, horny. That night, he slept like a baby, his firm hold on Y/N never wavering. Somewhere during the night her face had pushed itself in the crook of his neck, not that he cared.

One of his hands had landed on her butt while the other cradled her head again. Not that she cared. The next morning, Y/N was the first one up. She tried to get up from the bed but Bucky whined, actually whined underneath her. "Don't go." She giggled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "I need to use the bathroom."

Blinking a bit at the unexpected kiss (not that it wasn't welcome), it took him a few minutes to process her words. He let her go then, falling back asleep. He was tired; if he could, he wouldn't wake up for another 2 weeks. Y/N smiled softly when she came out of the bathroom, he looked so peaceful. Let him stay a while longer. She went to make herself some breakfast.

15 minutes into the process Bucky showed up, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

He buried his face in the side of her neck, leaving tiny kisses. "I thought you'd like to sleep longer," Y/N offered, one hand squeezing his arm. "It wasn't the same without you." She giggled as he pulled away, giving him another kiss on the cheek. "You sure know how to flatter women," she snorted and he grinned.

"Not just any woman, you in particular," he winked, sitting down at the dining table as Y/N brought over 2 plates of pancakes. "Consider me impressed, James," she teased back. "When does the bakery close?" he questioned as they both ate. "5 pm, why?" "I'm taking you out on a date," he said confidently.

"What time?"

"6:30?"

"Cool."

After they finished eating, they cleaned up for the day and left her apartment. Bucky offered to drop her to her bakery and she readily agreed, both of them walking down the street hand-in-hand. "I've been wanting to ask you out ever since we met," he confessed and she turned to him. "So have I," she chuckled and he looked at her, another grin forming on his face.

Soon, they reached the bakery and stood outside, simply staring at each other. "So, uh, I guess I'll—" The rest of the sentence caught in her throat as Bucky leaned forward and kissed her deeply. He couldn't hold himself back any longer. Y/N kissed back, smiling when he pulled away. "Can't wait for 6:30," she whispered.

"Neither can I."

And as he walked back towards the Compound, he thought about her, the eighteenth thing he liked about her (her kisses) and the many more things he was sure he was going to like about her in the upcoming months.

---

A/N: Leave a like if you enjoyed, thanks for reading!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fluff #winter soldier #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan characters #disney #mcu #marvel #avengers #fanfic #writing #writeblr

[sweetestlamb]

Bring Me To Life

Summary: Kang Sujin has never had anyone to turn to, hiding behind a façade her entire life. Someone begins to peek behind the mask. 

Author’s note: My two favorite characters in TB are Seojun and Sujin, both characters who are honestly treated like trash by the writers. I cannot begin to tell how upsetting it was to see Sujin’s character assassination or how painful it is to watch her being physically abused knowing that the writers will not give her therapy or a true happy ending. She’s just here to be beaten and vilified. Seojun, I won’t even rant everyone knows what the problem is (idk who told them we wanted to see Start-Up the high school edition.) So I wrote this after watching the most recent episode and hating most of it for these reasons. I don’t know how far it’ll go or how often I can update, but I need my two babies to have a happy ending preferably together because the visuals are just a dreammmm. 

The rain crashes down loudly from aggrieved storm clouds bellowing above her in the sky, the chilled condensation plastering her thin satin pajamas to her trembling body. She had to get out, the pain in her cheek numbing and electrifying all at once.

How dare she tell him that she didn't want to get married, want to stand on her own two feet without a man giving her value?

His hand had flown across the room before she could sidestep the blow, the fragile glass filled with water in her hand- the very reason she'd left her room in the dead of night- shattering into jagged pieces as it collided with a greater force. Just like her.

She hadn't been trying to eavesdrop but it was hard not to hear him chuckling deeply on the phone, offering up his only child like she was an item on a menu.

"Yes we should set them up. It seems Suho isn't interested and she should marry young, that's when women are worth the most."

Nausea rolled like waves in the pits of her stomach and before she could think logically, her feet were sprinting into the living room, air barely filling her lungs as she stared at the man she'd never once thought of as a father. The last time she'd made the grave mistake of calling him daddy he'd smacked her so hard that was how she lost her first tooth. He'd been father ever since or Mr. Kang. She tried her best to avoid him at all cost, she would never be good enough and it was getting harder to hide the marks he left behind.

It was difficult to remember clearly what occurred seconds after her refusal to marry a man she didn't know left her lips, his fist connected and she was knocked back onto their coffee table the sharp edge cutting at her cheek. As she looked at him, anger painting his face a demonic red, fear crippled her and her hands twitched desperately wanting to wash them raw. Then he grabbed a thick marble ashtray from the table and her instincts took over and she was out the door, running as fast as she could, knowing her life was at stake and she couldn't afford to stop.

When the cloud in her head cleared that was when she found herself at the bus stop.

Judgmental whispers breeze by her ears as people passed by with umbrellas, shocked to see the young girl crying in her pajamas at the stop, but none stopped to offer her help or inquire about her situation, happy just to pass judgement. She ignores them all, panicking racing through her blood until she's unable to breathe, choking on nothing as she twitches in the harsh air. Her throat constricts as she screams at herself, breathe. 

Breathe.

BREATHE! 

But it's useless as her body shuts down, forgetting how to do the basic function, she sways as she starts to feel light headed from the lack of oxygen and with a final wheeze she collapses. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He signs as he weaves past cars moving far too slowly, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he marginally misses nipping a car to the left of him, easily dragging his motorcycle away with the fluid movements of his body. He glares up at the sky before cursing, "Fucking weather report didn't say anything about a sudden rainstorm." If he'd known he would have stayed home, always hating the rain. It brought back bad memories.

Halting at a red light, he puts his leg down for balance bouncing slightly in place. Pulling the shield up on his helmet he glances around, recognizing the area easily, before something in his peripheral catches his attention, a lump on the ground. Tilting his head he revs his trusty iron steed to live, riding over to the direction of the mysterious mass on the wet ground. As he gets closer his heart falters, it's too evident now. 

It's a person.

Jumping off his bike and pushing out the kickstand he flings his helmet off, his hair immediately drenched under the downpour as he races over to help. As he nears the figure, it becomes clearer it's a woman wearing what looks like sleep clothes. Momentarily he wonders if this is a crazy person and if he should just mind his business but a frightening image of his little sister unconscious on the ground and no one coming to her aid flashes in his mind.

"I'll just check if she's breathing and call an ambulance. That's all, if she tries to attack me I'll just ride away." He takes a deep breath, collecting his courage before closing the gap between him and the unconscious woman.

Crouching beside her, he reaches out a hand hesitating before sighing and shaking at her cold shoulder. No response. He shakes harder now, watching the motion quake through her entire body, but still she is unresponsive.

"Hey! Hey! Are you okay? Wake up, you're scaring me!" He starts to jiggle her with both hands, before he crawls into her space not caring about his safety any longer, the idea that this unknown woman might be dead is making him nauseous. People are always dying without his permission. It's so frustrating.

"Wake up! Come on!" He shouts at the figure now holding both her shoulders and turning the woman over, lifting her face from its place on the ground, cradling her limp body in his lap. After two more vicious shakes, she starts to cough and groan in his arms. Relief swims through his veins as he watches her come back to life, anxiously watching as her dewy long lashes flutter open and he's caught in a lifeless deep gaze.

"Han Seo-Jun?"

It takes a long pause for him to register that the woman has said his name and then a longer moment to recognize who she is.

"Kang Su-Jin?" He replies in genuine shock, taking in the wom--young girl in his arms. She's shivering so violently that it's becoming difficult to hold onto her, vibrating out of his hold before he grips her tighter, whipping off his jacket without second thought and wrapping it around her. Goosebumps raising on his skin as his body mentally berates his lack of survival skills.

"What are you doing here?" She looks at him bewildered as if the stranger occurrence is his presence and not her own.

He squints his eyes looking back at her, "I could ask you the same thing. I found you unconscious here. I thought you were...." He trails off unable to utter the rest of his sentence.

"You should have left me here. Maybe I would have. If I was that lucky."

"What? Are you crazy, you want to die? Did you do this to yourself, what are you on?!" He roars at her, rage flooding his system as he shouts at the stupid girl, how dare she try to kill herself and leave her body for him to find? He wishes he had taken a different route, that he'd never come across her. He was in no state to comfort someone who was suicidal, still too raw and hurt. What was so hard about living that made people want to do that? Hot tears gather in his eyes as he abruptly pulls away from Sujin, unapologetic as she tumbles to the ground without his support.

She starts at him, stunned before righteous fury twists her features and she roars back at him.

"Who are you to judge me! I didn't ask you to help me, leave me alone!"

He glares back at her ready to yank his jacket away and run away from her but a small movement stops him, as she's screaming at him a small muscle twitches in her cheek bringing his attention to said cheek. It's nearly purple, standing out obscenely on her pale skin and then he notices the split lip and the bruises on her neck and he's so ashamed of himself he could bawl.

He deflates before speaking to her, "What happened to your face? Who did this to you?"

He doesn't know what kind of look he has on his face but before his questions can even settle between them she's sneering and twisting away from him, throwing his jacket on the ground before making her escape. Unprepared for her sudden departure he reacts too late, before chasing after her. It's easy to close the distance separating them with his long legs and within seconds she's merely inches in front of him, he reaches out a large hand to grab her wrist but hesitates recalling the bruises littering her frame. Instead he races past her, blocking her with his body swerving to the left and then the right when she tries to dodge him. They play this cat and mouse game before she finally gives up, glaring up at him with moist enraged eyes.

"Why do you care? We aren't even friends!"

Her piercing shout rings in his ears as he looks down at her passively. He can't answer that question, doesn't know what brought him to this area so late and not understanding why he was the one to find her in this condition. He doesn't know why he cares. But maybe things could have been different if Se-Yeon had someone to chase him. Maybe he'd still be alive...

So he answers her honestly.

"I don't want anymore people to die."

To his complete shock she starts to cry, tears falling rapidly from her eyes before she crumples to the ground, the rain pounding on her head and he stands still unsure of what to do before he drapes the jacket he'd rescued from the ground over her head, shielding her from most of the thunderous downpour. When she looks up to see the jacket protecting her, he almost falls backwards as her head slams into his chest, her tears simmering hot on his chilled body. It's almost painfully uncomfortable but he doesn't move away. Letting her cry on his chest, his shirt is soaked anyway this makes no difference.

He doesn't know how long they are crouched there on the ground, so dark that the sidewalk is completely devoid of anyone else, it feels like they are the only two people left on Earth.

"If we stay here you're going to get a cold."

He voices his concern but the only reply he receives is a gross sounding sniffle and he grimaces, knowing that his poor shirt is probably damaged beyond repair covered in snot and tears.

Sighing he starts to repeat himself before she whispers, "I don't have anywhere to go."

"I can take you home." Her fists tighten in his drenched shirt, he can practically feel the fear wafting off her, he'd assumed the marks on her face were from a possessive unhinged boyfriend but her reaction makes him uneasy. He tries to push those unpleasant thoughts to the corner.

"What about your friends? Why don't you call Su-ah or Ju-Kyung, I’m sure they’ll help you.” 

She stiffens in his arms before shaking her head in decline.

"No. I can't let anyone else see me like this. I don't need them looking at me the way you did, like I'm a sad pitiful puppy. I never want anyone look at me like that again."

He can respect that, he never wants to appear weak in front of others. It was easier to become angry and lash out rather than showing your true heart, nobody could hurt you that way.

"Then what? Where do you want to go?"

"I have nowhere to go. I'll stay here until morning. I'll be fine, you can go."

He looks at her dumbfounded, what kind of man would leave a battered woman alone in the rain? He wasn't raised by animals, damn it.

"Let's go." He makes a point not to touch her, their only point of connection are her hands twisted in his shirt.

"What?"

He bulldozes past her confusion, looking at her with what he hopes are comforting eyes.

"I'm taking you to my house. I can't just leave you here."

"Are you crazy? Don't you live with your mother and sister, what will they say?"

He winces at the logical inquiry, he had already considered that himself, thinking of his mother's subsequent smacks and his sister's teasing once they learned what he'd done but still deciding that he has no other choice. He can't just leave her here.

He shrugs, "That's my problem to worry about. I'm not leaving you here, I'd really like to get out of his rain. Let's go." He repeats himself harder, pleading with her.

She looks away and he's prepared to throw her over his shoulders and face the consequences when he hears her response, "Okay. Let's go."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It's a quiet ride back, the engine rumbling through the aching bones of her frozen body. Han Seojun. The last person she ever expected to see after being roused from her panic induced collapse. Her arms tighten around his thin waist as he swerves around a car, adrenaline and fear battling for dominance in her body. When her fingers accidentally brush across wet bare skin she quickly moves her hands higher, fighting the embarrassment that washes over her.

If he notices she can't hear his reaction over the roar of the motorcycle.

When they finally pull up to a small apartment, she loosens her hold on him cracking her frozen digits.

"You didn't need to hold that tightly, I wasn't going to let anything happen to you. I ride this everyday you know."

She doesn't reply focusing on getting off the bike, swinging her leg over and hopping off not graceful but effective, a small proud smile spreads on her face before she gazes back at him.

He stares back before shaking his head, as if lost in a daze before he stomps off for her to follow.

Wordlessly she trails behind him, feeling foolish in her duck pajamas, a gift from Su-ah.

When he pushes his front door open, letting her in first she steps out of her sopping wet house slippers standing awkwardly looking around.

"Stay here. I'll get towels so we don't trail too much water."

She nods at his command, gazing at the floor and seeing how much water is already pooling around her feet.

"Here." He hands her a fluffy pink towel, she raises an eyebrow at the color.

"It's the guest towel. I wouldn't give you my towel."

That makes sense, sharing towels is far too intimate for the relationship they have. That being none. 

She rapidly towels at her hair, before running the towel down her body and wrapping it around her waist.

"You can use the bathroom. It's the second door on the right. I'll bring you dry clothes."

She steps cross the doorway, finally entering his home. Before she turns back to him staring directly into his eyes, "Than.... You didn't have to do this." She loses her confidence but his answering smirk lets her know he understood enough, with that she walks to the bathroom locking herself inside.

The sight of her bruised face in the mirror makes her pause, reaching up to finger at the stark purple mark on her cheek. She's crying before she can control her emotions, tears dripping into the sink as she remembers her night, how close she was to the end despite what she said to Seojun she wanted to live. As her father stood above her ready to snuff her out like a mere nuisance in his life, she realized with a burning passion how desperately she wanted to live.

A soft knock drags her back to reality as she rapidly wipes her tears away.

"I'm leaving clothes by the door. You can come out whenever you're ready. I'm making tea."

When she hears the light steps of his feet moving away from the door she opens the door a crack, picking up the neatly folded pile of clothes. Sending the boy a mental thank you before closing the door quietly.

It's clear that these clothes belong to Seojun, draping off her body, too large for her frame, a black T-shirt with a microphone on the center and sweatpants that cover her feet as well, he'd even remembered to bring her socks. Instantly she feels her body warming as her body temperature returns to normal. 

Folding her wet clothes and splashing water on her face then using the towel to rub it dry, she exits the bathroom walking towards the light she sees assuming that's the kitchen.

"The water's almost done boiling. Sit down."

His deep voice greets her as she follows his orders and takes a seat.

"Are these your clothes?"

"What? Oh yeah they're mine, sorry my sister locked her door. They're very old though, I haven't worn them in years I thought they would fit you better." He eyes her as he says the last sentence, "I guess it didn't make much of a difference I'm just too tall and manly for my own good."

She scoffs at his narcissistic comment rolling her eyes "Tall and manly my foot. You're so skinny I could probably pick you up with one arm."

He immediately turns at her comment, affronted look on his face, "Shut up! It's hard for me to put on weight, I'm not that skinny."

He places his hands on his hips, looking down at himself before puffing his chest out to make himself appear broader, it's so ridiculous that she can't control her reaction.

Sudden uncontrollable laughter.

She laughs breathlessly, folding onto her lap trying to contain her giggles but his scandalized look makes her laugh harder and she has to stuff her face in her elbow to prevent herself from waking his family.

After a few minutes of random spasms of laughter she finally peers back up at him.

He looks just like he did outside when she'd smiled after successively getting off his motorcycle.

"What? What are you looking at?"

"Nothing. I just never see you smile at school."

"Well you never do anything worth smiling about." She quips back, wondering if she'd gone too far but he doesn't reply beyond a slight smile that's gone too fast to even be titled that, he places her steaming cup of tea before her sipping at his own after blowing on it.

They drink in comfortable silence.

She's the first to rapture the silence, "I don't need pity."

"I don't pity yo--"

"But thank you. Thank you for stopping. Thank you for this, thank you."

He stares wordlessly before nodding, a slight blush on his cheeks before he hides his face in the cup of tea. She doesn't bring attention to it.

"You can sleep in my room. It's the door next to the bathroom."

Humming she looks up, fatigue hitting her like a brick at the mention of sleeping.

"Where will you sleep?"

"I have a perfectly good couch, don't argue you're sleeping in my room. That's final. It's better that my mother doesn't see a strange woman on the couch when she wakes up."

Well, she can't argue with that logic.

"Okay." Drinking the last of the soothing beverage, she stands up walking over to place the cup in the sink.

"Good night." She starts to walk back in the direction of the bathroom, seeing another door next to it. Seojun's room. Twisting the doorknob she pushes it open, before she hears his voice from behind her.

"If you need anything I'm right outside."

Blinking her tears away, she nods without looking back, too vulnerable with his palpable concern.

When she lays her head down on his pillow, his scent fills her senses and she falls into a deep restless slumber feeling safer than she has in long time.

Tomorrow will be horrible.

But tonight, she will allow herself to breath easy knowing that someone is on her side.

#true beauty #kang sujin #han seojun #sujin deserves better #redemption fic #healing each others wounds #the visuals #true beauty kdrama #slow burn

[strosmkai-rum]

RECREATIONAL HEADCANONS

i hope you can envision the look of horror and appalment that crossed my face when i saw there was no. uh. content on this. 

so naturally i had to make it. here i covered nords, khajiits, bretons, and strangely enough, dremora too. 

nords.

- board games, like tafl and chess and backgammon.

- marbles! small, clay oven-baked marbles. little glass ones! maybe some made out of precious metals if you're like that.

- pottery. clay cups. pitchers and vases with legs. glazed urns painted to show scenes or gods or. the name of the person in it-

- wood carving!

- they’d carve amulets for loved ones, or little figures/toys for children. also, game pieces for chess and tafl.

- painting. a very valid art form and most commonly used to tell stories and legends. so. watercolors. pigments made from pressing flowers. and made into murals in your house. a little sewn together book for a child so they grow up with bedtime stories and tales and have a reference other than memory alone.

- cooking. a true nord knows how to make the best beef stew in town. 

- boxing and wrestling. very competetive sports.

- children play tag and hide and seek.

- knot tying. i hc that most nords carry around a strip of leather/rope and tie and untie knots in them, partially to not forget and also as a timekiller/nervous habit.

- tarot card readings. the cards have celtic knotwork in gold leaf on the borders. talos worshippers have a talos card in their decks, along with the nordic pantheon. runes are inscribed on the cards. thank you @memaidraws for informing me of tarot cards and for my new obsession-

- debates. a sharp mind is just as important as a good sword arm. they're careful not to let it escalate into an argument, but a lot of quips and questions answered with questions. some get very heated though, v entertaining to watch. note: never bring up politics or religion.

- fishing. the lakes are usually pretty calm so you have a nice time and get a meal.

- darts. throwy and sharp.

- knowing how to take care of clothing, or weapons or armor is also very important. like. it's a basic thing to know how to take care of yourself and your stuff. anyways your big burly nord warrior can absolutely sew and stitch and haggle.

khajiits.

- grooming. self care and image is huge in their culture. 

- so like. combing fur, trimming facial hair and whiskers.

- filing/buffing claws, and making sure they’re not overgrown or chipped.

- however. the only time you would show claws is if you're threatening someone, and it's a grave offense to show them. it means you're ready to fight, literally tooth and nail. never, and i mean never, show claws in someone else's home. you will be mauled.

- senches and alfiqs are more prone to ingrown claws. the best way to prevent that is for them to regularly sharpen their claws on trees or a scratching post. if the claw does become ingrown, a trusted friend or family member with hands can help have it trimmed down to size. 

- swimming is kind of out of the question lmao (i mean. tigers love water but senche tigers and senches are kinda dif but whatever you want)

- i think that they’d be very social people. they spend a lot of time with friends and family and take gatherings and holidays very seriously. 

- weaving. tapestries and rugs and stuff. if you catch a khajiit caravan, they have big and heavy and warm and vibrant colored tapestries depicting the moons and the mane and historical stuff.

- casual gift giving! small things, like something you picked up at the market if it reminded you of your loved one. it could be a charm for a chain, or a new sugar pipe, or some paint or a little carved comb.

- moon sugar. it's not a big deal for them, it's a normal food. but they might have a small pouch of it on them, for snacking and stuff.

- i kind of want to say wood carving, with their claws, but i don't think it works like that. plus the retractable claws, getting splinters or wood dust in there is, ugh.

breton.

- swimming and rock climbing. idk why.

- javelin throwing, archery, darts. ranged stuff, because throwing stuff is cool.

- card games like poker, karnöffel, and écarté. (oh god i know these are all from dif places and times but. please.)

- dice. it's a big deal what you bring to the table! bone carved, ebony, glass, or whatever. along with your cards.

- reading books, or, making them. as in, bookbinding and copying and translating older ones. it's really cool and a status symbol to have a massive library in your house, to show how big brain you are.

- just. learning in general. it's always cool to learn new things, but be warned. don't ever. correct someone in their own house. or they will very politely summon a flame atronach to show you the door.

- herbs! little perfumes, and balms.

- cooking and baking. flaky pastries? yes. pot pies? absolutely. other stuff i can't name right now? hell yeah.

- stitching. small embroideries or knotwork or symbols in clothing, either super subtle or bold and noticeable, but always very detailed and perfect.

dremora.

- oh, this is an odd one, i know. 

- they take good care of their horns though, similar to a khajiit with their claws. appearances, people.

- longer horns, the better. super curved ones like a ram are also very cool.

- sharp tips? very good.

- also. hc that they have pointy nails. not quite claws. but they do naturally forms points. and are very hard and strong.

- they paint them. yes.

- face paint. nail paint. horn paint. elegant swirls, or markings.

- paint color varies, but i imagine they stick to a blood red, or a deep black. they might paint spirals and swirls on their horns, and follow up with stripes on their face, or go with black for a v subtle but awesome look.

- armor and robes are always in top shape. why? because.

- they value knowledge as much as their appearance. some very openly share what they learn with everyone, and others are very secretive.

#tes #lore #headcanons #nords #bretons #dremora #khajiits #recreation #tes headcanons #smh there's no lore on this i'm making this cabon

[owillofthewisps]

gaze upon my bones

notes: are you ever just doing something and then you’re like ‘oh! a lightning strike to the brain!’ and you drop everything to do something else? that’s kinda what this was. which means idk about the quality but hey!

playin’ real fast and loose with gods and oracles in the witcher verse here because, well - i can.

title is from rafferty’s ‘mausoleum’

i tagged everyone in my ‘all witcher’ taglist but if renfri ain’t for you just skip it!

rating: hard teen? (warnings: canon-typical violence, major character death [canon compliant], brief mention of implied child death, brief references to sex, angst i guess?)

pairing: renfri/fem reader

word count: 3.5k

knowing fate does not save you from it.

People so rarely want the truth of fate.

You learn to read your patrons early, divine their desires from the lilt of their lips (pulled pink between their teeth, curved quiet around a secret, laugh lines carved around an unsmiling mouth) and the way their hands flutter like moths against the silk of your cushions.  In the beginning, they come to you relentlessly, mindlessly, a river destined to spill into your ocean, to mingle with the salt of you.  They pour into your endless reservoir and they never want the truth of it.  

It is a hard lesson to learn, to swallow down the truth, but you never forget the prick of the mother’s blade against the soft curve of your belly and the way her sobs burned bright against your ear.  When you were a child, pressing your ear against a seashell gave you the music of the ocean.  If you returned to the coast now, you think, the shell would echo with her wails instead. 

They do not want the truth, and so you no longer give it to them.

Instead, you carry their fates somewhere deep inside.  You have been to war a thousand times, all without even knowing how to swing a sword.  Have felt a man’s skull split beneath your blade, felt the pulse of it resonate up into your arm.  Cradled a child as they sweat out a fever, held them for hours after they went limp in your arms. The first time you’d orgasmed, it had paled in comparison to the one you’d lived through the woman with hair that cascaded like fire against her freckled shoulders.  The first time you’d loved, it hadn’t been as ardently as the man with night-sky eyes, a vast dark gaze full of the tenderness of the guiding stars.  

A trickster god, you said to your mother, years ago now.  Hundreds of other people’s not-yet lifetimes ago.  Of all the gods you could choose.  

She hadn’t known the trick would weigh heavy on you and not her, but that is the way of the gods.  

(In your seventeenth summer, you give yourself to a forest goddess, let her priestesses drape you with ivy and fiddleheads still tightly furled.  You trace a finger over the curved stem of the fiddlehead and turn your face towards the forest canopy, letting the dappled sunlight shimmer over your skin.  It feels like a blessing.

Not three evenings later, you dream.

There are teeth shining in the darkness, slick white against velvet night, each tooth sharp with something unearthly, a knife’s blade of divinity.  They smile terribly, and you know what it is to be small.  

Very well, the teeth rumble, dark amusement apparent in the rockslide click-clack of them.  I suppose you are owed a trick of your own. 

You wake with winter spiraling down your spine, the chill spreading cool across your skin despite summer’s heated kiss.  The gooseflesh prickles like little thorns, the sensation rolling over you like a shroud.

You do not know if it was just a dream, and you do not want to know.

If the trickster god has let go of you, he has not taken back your sight, the way lives unspool over little flickers of smoke with you a captive audience to their play, and that is the cruelest trick of all.)

There is inherent trickery in fate, you know, and most of your patrons’ fates are blurred at the edges, still intangible, still changeable.  

Not Renfri’s.

She comes to the temple, hidden deep in the shadows of the woods, and you are entranced.  

She is incandescent with youth, supple and wild.  She reminds you of a waning moon.  Aglow with vigor, the type of beauty that makes you want to raise your face to her and bathe in her light.  But at her edges, a shadow that consumes, that edges closer to the heart of her.  

She settles at the edge of the cushion across from you.  Her legs are long, lean things, slender but heavy with muscle, and something in you aches to touch.  

There is a small streak of dirt smeared across her graceful neck.  Your sisters had offered her a bath, hands twisting nervously in their sleeves, and she had laughed, a low, clear noise. 

“Some things we can’t be cleaned of,” she’d said.  “I would see the oracle first.”

And so she came to you.

She slings her arm over her knee.  In the sunlight, her eyes are the color of a newborn fawn, tawny brown and beautiful, but she has none of the fawn’s timidity. 

“I’d thought of oracles as old,” Renfri says.

You quirk a brow.  “Come back in several decades and I will be.”

Her pink lips lift at the corners with something sweetly sly. “I’d also thought them dull, so you’ve proved me wrong twice over.”

You hum something soft.  

Renfri considers you, and you can feel her trying to split you at the seams, to open you to her curiosities.    

“Do you truly know what is fated?” she asks softly, and for the briefest moment, she is delicate. Her leather armor, worn and nicked where blades have floated too close, seems too big on her.  

More than I wish, you think.  “Only time can answer that,” you say instead.  “Would you like to know?”

She nods, and there is the snarl of a feral thing tucked between her teeth.  The wild uncurls in her, that dark edge of the moon spreading across her, seeping like a shadow just beneath her skin. 

You contemplate the small scars scattered like stars across her knuckles, the fine delicacy of the scar tissue, and the hard peaks of her knuckles beneath.  “Think of what fate you want to know,” you say.  “You may speak it aloud, if that pleases you, but hold it in your mind.”

Most close their eyes to bring their uncertainty out of the depths of themselves.

Not Renfri.

She meets your gaze, her hard eyes framed by the soft sweep of her chestnut waves, and though her face is blank stone, you can sense the bared teeth.  She is all coiled snake, sleekly muscled and ready to strike. 

“Hold out your hand.”

Renfri extends her hand.  Her fingers are fine-boned, sleek and slender, but her calluses scrape against your skin as you turn her hand over.  Her scars are small hills, and you trace the pad of your thumb over the raised skin without thought.

You have only a moment to register the warmth of her skin against your questing fingertips, and then her fate sweeps you away.

And it is terrible.

Blood swallows you like a tide, drags you deeper into a wash of violence that makes you tremble.  Bellies burst and split open against the cruel drive of a spike; symphonies of cracking bones. The heavy thud of a sword pushing through a skull. The smell of copper and rot and death.  An empty space inside, a void hungry for control, for taking back what is yours. 

And then, for the briefest breath, for a lightning strike of a moment: your own lips, curling up into something fond. A touch so light it reminds of the sun, intangible but felt anyway.  The woody, pungent scent of thyme mellowed by soft, sweet clover, soap and skin perfumed by the temple’s lush cloverbeds. 

Then there is laughter, a comfort of familiar men’s low voices flashing by too quick for words.  Blood blossoms and fades and rage so deep it winds up your throat like vines until you are choking on the breadth of it and then - 

Snowy hair gone silver with grime.  A voice like a landslide.  Warmth and wonder, heat in the hallowed embrace of the woods. Two swords, silver and steel, and the bite of a blade at your throat.  Pain spreading like a disease.  A gaping maw of hunger never filled. 

Renfri’s death pulls you out of her fate.  You pick carefully at the threads of her still wound around the needle of your mind, tease them out before they can be woven into you.  It takes more concentration than usual.

The breath you take is deep and slow; it washes the copper stink of blood out from your nose.  “Do you want to know your fate?” you ask Renfri.

She considers you.  She has eyes like the forest, deep brown and full of life.  “No,” Renfri says.  “Not yet.”

Your hand is still on hers, but she does not move. 

You are the one who pulls back.

Later, once Renfri rejoins her men, Maya brings you a skein of water.  She hums quietly as you drink deeply. “What did you see?” she asks.  “It is not like you to be so shaken.”

You wipe the water from your lips.  “Me,” you say.  “I saw me.”

Maya cups your cheek.  Her dark eyes are soft.  They have the sorrow of the winter forest in them, bleakly quiet.  She runs her thumb across your cheekbone, her touch feather light.  “Knowing fate is a dangerous thing,” she murmurs.

You wrap your hand around her wrist, let your fingers play across the delicacy of her skin. She smiles, slow and sweet, and pulls away gently.  

Maya settles next to you, her skirt flaring like an opening bloom.  She rests her head against your shoulder and hums quietly.

The two of you stay like that for a long, long time.

-

Renfri returns a scant month later.  

She is wild with delight, all bared teeth and feral joy.  There is a cut healing on her collarbone; the edges of it going pink with the promise of a scar.  Her chestnut hair is mussed by the wind.  It wisps around her face like smoke.  

She is achingly beautiful.  

Maya must tell her where to go, for she finds you sprawled in the cloverbed behind the temple.  She hunkers down next to you in one fluid motion.  You blink up at her.

“Renfri?”

She smiles.  “Oracle. You remember me.”  

How could I not, you don’t say.  Instead, you tell her your name and say: “You don’t need to call me oracle now.”

You push to your elbows as Renfri plops down into the clovers with you.  She’s feline in her grace, stretches her lithe form in the sunlight, tilting her face up towards the light.  You think of her grace as she prowls around the broad man in the market square. 

“Would you like to know your fate?” you ask.  It feels an odd thing, to ask it here, in the warmth of the sun with the clovers brushing against your skin, the sweet scent of them catching in the breeze.

“Why do you ask that?” Renfri says.  She peers at you, shading her eyes from the sun, the deep mahogany of them almost black in the shadows.  

“What?”

She sighs.  “Why do you ask if I’d like to know my fate, instead of just telling?”

You shift.  “People don’t always understand what it means,” you tell her.  “Sometimes knowing the end makes you lose the present.”

Renfri hums.  “I don’t think I could lose the present,” she says softly.  “Not until I’ve run my blade through Stregobor’s belly.” 

“You’d be surprised.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“About what?”

“Stregobor.”

You sigh.  “If you wanted to tell me, you would.”

“You can say it, you know,” Renfri tells you.  She’s watching you carefully, those dark eyes half-wild.  “You know the stories, even out here.”

“Do you want me to call you Shrike?” you ask.

She tilts her head.  The waves of her hair spill against the shore of her shoulders.  “No,” she says quietly.  “I don’t think I do.”

“Alright,” you say.

You fade into silence, listening to the creaking lullaby of the forest.  Renfri lies down next to you, her dark hair stark against the verdant green of the clovers.  She tugs at them with nimble fingers.  The snap of their stems sharpens their scent as it floats sweet around you.  

Eventually, she tells you about Stregobor.  

Eventually, you nudge closer to curl up by her side.

Eventually, she leaves, and you are left with nothing but the lingering scent of her - warm cloves and sword oil, and just beneath it, the copper tang of blood - and the choking feeling of a sob caught in your throat.

-

“Would you want to know your own fate?”

“No,” you tell Renfri as you separate a wild cherry from its stem.  You split the flesh of it between your fingers and pry the stone free.  The pit plinks into the wooden bowl, the sound of it oddly musical. Maya had pulled you both into the kitchen to help her when Renfri first arrived.  It hadn’t taken her long to disappear, but you can still feel her warning gaze prickling against your skin.

Renfri steals the cherry from you with nimble fingers and pops it into her mouth.  The carmine juice of it stains her pink lips dark.  You try not to stare.

“Why not?” she asks.

It takes a moment to understand what she’s asking about.  You pull your gaze away from the dark sweep of her eyelashes against her pale skin. 

“Sometimes you can know too much,” you tell her.

Renfri hums. She cuts off a sliver of a nearby apple with a small dagger, holds it to your lips.  You roll your eyes at her but pull the crisp slice from her blade, let the fruit’s flesh crunch under your teeth, sour and sweet in the same breath. She pulls back and sucks the juice from her fingers.  

Heat rises to your cheeks.

You busy yourself with the wild cherries, breaking them down with the easy precision of constant work.  The smell of them fills the air.  “Besides,” you say absently, working at a particularly stubborn pit, “it’s hard enough already, waiting for what I’ve seen come to pass.”

Renfri pauses.  “You’ve seen yourself in other’s fates?”

“Ah,” you say.  “Yes.”

“Many of them?”

“No,” you say carefully.  “Just one.”

“Oh,” Renfri says, and then she is working at the apple again, peeling its skin off in a long, curling ribbon.  She’s quiet, then, and she stays quiet. During the mid-day dinner, with Maya and the rest of the table sharing the low benches at the long table, she seems to find her chatter again.  

She leaves the same night.  Her men are itching to move on, and from what low chatter carries to you, they’ve caught wind of Stregobor for the first time since he fled Angren. The sun is just gaining the golden hue of the late afternoon when she saddles her horse.  Her men start ahead of her as she dallies at the door of the temple.

“Stay safe,” you tell her, even though you know that in the end, she cannot.  

Renfri nods, and the sun catches in her chestnut hair, paints it bright and dark all at once.  “The fate you saw yourself in,” she says quietly.  

Don’t, you want to say. Please.

“Yes?” you ask.

“It was mine, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” you say, and your ribs crack under the admission.

“I knew it,” Renfri breathes, and she tastes of cherry juice and a hint of spice bread.  She kisses you again, fervent, her callused hands rough against your cheeks, and you open to her.  Renfri softens against you.  She tastes of cherry juice and something tenderly sweet and fate - fate has not prepared you for this.  

She pulls away from you and rests her forehead against yours.  You breathe in her air and push it back out as your own.  Her eyes are mahogany in the afternoon light, tinted darker still by want.  

“I have to go,” she says.

“I know.”

“Soon,” Renfri says.  “I’ll be back soon.”

You push into her again, catch her lips with yours.  She pulls you close, one hand dropping low on your waist, her fingers dipping under the gap between your bodice and your skirt.  She is so warm against you.  

Renfri rides off into the distance.  There is a moment where she blocks out the sun, and it gleams at the edges of her, crowning her with light seeping around her shadowed edges.  An eclipse all your own.

Please, you think that night, as you tend to one of the patches of your goddess’s favored ferns. Let me be wrong, just once.

-

You trace a finger across the scar just beneath Renfri’s left breast, a little sickle moon of healed flesh.  Your touch is feather light.

Renfri laughs and catches your hand.  She brings it to her lips, presses a kiss to the pads of your fingers.  Her lips are swollen and red and hot beneath your touch.  You echo her with a kiss against the lean muscle of her belly.  

“What are you thinking of?” she asks softly.

“Nothing and everything,” you say.  She had come to the temple wearing a leather vest with a familiar pattern.  You could not strip her of it fast enough.

“Come now, oracle,” Renfri chides.  “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” you say.

You crawl up and kiss her red, red lips.  She tastes of cherry juice and campfire smoke.  It’s a lazy, sweet kiss.  She cups the nape of your neck and urges you against her.  Renfri touches you with a reverence you’d never expected, her rough hands soft against your skin.  

Her hair is dark against your linens, the waves of it spread wide against your thin pillow.  She glitters with delight, but there is still something feral tucked into her lips.  She kisses you like a wild thing, sometimes, her deep brown eyes hazed until they are almost black, a velvet night to embrace you.  You curl into her side and stroke your fingers over her skin.

The two of you doze until Renfri murmurs: “Would you tell me my fate, if I asked?”

You think of blood, and how the sound of two swords scraping against each other reminds you of a mourning knell.  You think of Renfri’s teeth nipping against your neck like little knives, and her form molded soft against yours.  You press your face into her neck and she smells of thyme, wood and earth, your soap still lingering on her skin.  

She leaves tonight.  The two of you are hoarding every moment you can have, winding sinuous around time like a dragon guarding its treasure. 

“Do you want to know it?” you ask, tasting the salt of her skin on your lips.

Renfri traces the curve of your hip with a long finger.  You pull back enough to peek up at her, to see the way the fan of her lashes flutter over her skin.  She tips your chin up until you meet her eyes.

“No,” she says.  Her eyes glimmer and gleam like torchlight.

You think some quiet part of her already knows.

You press a kiss against the blade of her collarbone.  “Then I won’t,” you say.

The two of you stay entwined until Renfri has to leave.  The Arc Coast is not small, and there are many towns where Stregobor may be hiding, though there are whispers that he is in a sorcerer’s tower in one of the larger towns.  

Renfri’s goodbye kisses are always her hungriest ones.  

She casts a long shadow as she and her men ride off.  It glows around the edges, and you think again of an eclipse.

Not three evenings later, you dream.

There are teeth shining in the darkness.  Each tooth is sharp with power, all honed pale bone gleaming in the velvet cradle of the deep, deep night.  They are ghastly things, otherworldly, piercing through the veil. They do not smile, but you still feel small.  

It is a cruel trick, fate, the teeth say, all rumbling thunder crackling just overhead, splitting the sky with sound. The order of it brings comfort, but the knowing - the knowing is pain. I am sorry, child of mine.

When you wake, you are already crying. 

-

Years later, you step into a tavern and see a witcher with white, white hair tucked away at a table in the back.  His eyes glow sun-gold, and he is as handsome as you remember.  

You order a tankard of ale. Those amber eyes flicker towards you as you approach.  His face is stone, but his eyes are a warning all their own.  

“Thank you,” you say to Geralt of Rivia.  “For trying.”

The tankard makes a heavy noise against the pitted wood of the table.

From the deep grunt, he doesn’t understand, but you don’t need him to.  You still remember the look on his face as he skimmed Renfri’s own blade against the delicate skin of her neck.  The desolation of it, the crack in the very foundation of him.  You still know the touch of his arm against your back, how he cradled her as she fell. 

You had always known you were going to lose her. 

Knowing fate does not save you from it.

taglist: @whitewolfandthefox @hina-chans-stuff @witchernonsense @tutuwho @riviawitch3r @restingnurseface @consultingdetextive @ambivertomnivore @theunwantedomega @shewritesinthethirdperson

#renfri x reader #renfri x you #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #renfri imagine #me: i'm gonna work on my current projects #also me: does this

[lacheri]

Hey congrats on your followers and um ily and I saw the request kinda thingy so I’ll chip in as well. Pisces, INFJ-A personality, she/her. I’d like it to be about Levi, nsfw and canon. I know it’s quite a stretch but even tho it’s nsfw maybe it can also be sth angsty with comfort at the end?? Like maybe they fought or sth bc of jealousy idk and then it gets sweet?? :( Idk if I’m making any sense but I trust u with this one cuz you’re amazing

thank u sm this was so sweet 🥰 I hope u enjoy nonnie! bout to write toxic!levi in this bih

Knight of Cups: when this knight is upright in a reading, he’s in touch with his emotions, he’s charming and charismatic, in love with all things beautiful. however, when reversed, the knight is moody and jealous with an overactive imagination. knights represent action in the tarot, and we all know the saying that actions speak louder than words.

mount everest - labrinth. "You could touch the sky, but you ain't got shit on me, 'cause I'm on top of the world."

warnings/content: Levi is toxic and jealous and slightly ooc, face fucking, mentions of penetrative sex, minors DNI.

Levi was convinced he was going to kill someone, namely, the drunken captain who was swaying just a little bit too close to you. After a successful mission beyond Wall Rose to scope out just how bad Wall Maria had been invaded by titans, Levi had joined his fellow comrades for dinner and drinks. The squads made it out with thankfully no casualties, a rare event that was cause enough for celebration. The headquarter’s dining hall was swarmed with military bodies, some new faces Levi hadn’t even seen before. Some were even calling this a party, believe it or not, getting plastered off their asses on wine.

When the captain had finally yanked your form away from the staggering man, his disgusting hands splayed across your waist, your eyes were wide open in appreciation to your savior. The unfamiliar captain had gritted his teeth, taking a swig of his personal bottle of wine, leering dangerously close to Levi’s face.

“Whaddya’ doing with my bitch, shorty?”

The crack of the man’s skull against the harsh floor was deafening, all chatter surrounding silenced in horror as blood splattered everywhere. Levi’s fist ached, knuckles already bruising, and your jaw was practically hanging on the ground in shock.

“You motherfucker!” the man spat a tooth out, hand nursing his bloody broken nose. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Sir, you can’t,” one of the man’s cadets, a young man with a bowl cut, quickly rushed to his aid, circling his palms around his biceps to bring him to his feet. “That’s Captain Levi, humanity’s strongest.”

Levi didn’t stick around for the rest of the conversation, uninterested in hearing the drunken captain’s slurring of threats. Levi’s grip was tight around your forearm as he escorted you out of the hall, various soldiers side-stepping out of the way to allow the fuming captain a clear path.

The door of Levi’s office slammed as he barked out, “What the fuck was that?”

You frowned, feeling a rush of anxiety fill your chest, “I was trying to get away from that man! He kept talking to me though, I didn’t want to be rude to one of the captains, sir.”

Levi’s fist came thundering down to the top of his desk, “Not hard enough!”

You blinked several times, finally catching on as you realized that Levi was jealous, “I wasn’t flirting with that guy!”

“Sure looked like you were to me,” he spat, teeth grinding together. “Wouldn’t you just love for that old man to take you to bed?”

“He wouldn’t be the first one,” the words left your lips before you could bite your sharp tongue.

Levi whipped his head towards you, bewilderment in his eyes, “Excuse me?”

“He wouldn’t be the first old man I fucked, sir,” you decided to clarify angrily, mentally digging yourself into your own grave.

Levi came barrelling towards you, gripping your chin and cheeks in one hand while his other pushed your back into his door, “First, you flirt with that disgusting excuse of a man, and now, you’re insulting me?”

You didn’t dare make a move, stubborn in your words as you felt desire flutter in your abdomen, “Did I stutter, Captain?”

He began to chuckle darkly, not a hint of amusement on his expression, “Get on your knees, since you’ve forgotten how good this old man fucks you.”

Before you could even will a muscle to follow his instructions, your pussy fluttering at his harsh tone, Levi was grabbing the back of your hair and forcing you down to the floor. His hand weaved into your hair while the other worked on the belt loops of his pants. His cock fell out of the waistband as it loosened, your own fingers coming up to pull the material down to his thick thighs. He was half hard, still well endowed, and you could feel the drool start to pool under your tongue.

He grabbed the base of his length, guiding himself to your wet pout as you licked your lips in anticipation. Had he not been so angry, Levi would’ve kissed you gently, working his own mouth and hands to satisfy your body before chasing his own pleasure. Not tonight, though, he was going to show you that you belonged to no one other than him, humanity’s strongest.

Levi showed absolutely no mercy, your scalp burning as he held your hair in a tight vice as he thrusted his hips deep into your wet mouth. He let out a deep groan upon hitting the back of your throat, feeling you gag around him due to not being allowed time to prepare yourself to deep throat the large length of the man. You sucked in air hard through your nostrils, brain turning to mush as your cunt clenched around nothing. You were so turned on right now, your panties dampening further as his hardening cock began sliding down your throat.

He brought his other hand to your shoulder, steadying himself and holding you still as he rocked back and forth on his feet, swearing profanities and curses. You kept your eyes on his the entire time, allowing the fat tears to roll down your cheeks unashamed. You knew better than to look away, and honestly, you really didn’t want to, Levi looked divine as he fucked your face.

Globs of spit trailed down your chin and throat, Levi pumping his throbbing cock in and out of your slobbering lips at a fastening pace. Your fingers twitched at your sides, wanting so badly to unfasten your own belt and rub your clit to the sight. Again, you knew better, and kept your hands at your side, awaiting Levi to release his frustrations onto you.

“Don’t you ever let another man’s hands fucking touch you, that’s an order,” his fat tip slammed into the back of your throat, a hard and verbal gag vibrated out of your lips, spit bubbling along the edges. “I swear, I’d fucking kill the man who ever dared to take you away from me.”

You were almost sobbing in desperation, your panties soaked thoroughly by now. Part of you wanted to pull away, grab Levi and gently kiss away his insecurities. There would never be another man that would hold your affection, it was only for your him, you’d promise him genuinely, leading the raven haired man to the bed for you to ride him into oblivion.

However, the rest of you urged yourself on in triumph as you rolled your tongue against the underside of his dick, feeling a thick pulsing vein against your tastebuds. Levi roared with a moan, his thumbs swiping softly under your eyes to wipe away your streaming tears.

“I’m gonna’ fucking cum,” his thrusts fastened, his fingers hooking into your hairline. You couldn’t take it anymore, unbuttoning your pants and ridding yourself of your belt noisily as your index finger made a hasty retreat into your sopping panties. “Fuck, yeah, touch yourself.”

You moaned as you finally began to relieve yourself, your slick lubing your finger as you circled fast patterns on your aching clit. You were feeling dizzy from all the stimulation, Levi fucking you stupid without even entering your center where you needed him most. You could envision his dick slamming into your core over and over as his hip movements became irregular. You felt jealous as his load finally busted deep in your throat, rather than deep within your womb, holding your face flush to his pelvis as his legs trembled, knees threatening to buckle. Levi was cussing vehemently, face scrunched together tightly as his cock pumped against your tongue, emptying every last bit of cum. You plunged your middle finger into your hole then, moaning and creating vibrations against his length, Levi hissing out in pleasure.

You swallowed the salty substance, not even tasting a drop from his tip being shoved past your tongue. He pulled his hips back as the last waves of his orgasm rocked through him, allowing you to finally take in some much needed breaths. His hard grip on your skull softened, his thumbs brushing against your temples in appreciation.

His softening dick fell from your lips with a pop as he whispered, “I’d strike down anyone who ever came between us. I’m humanity’s fucking strongest, I’ll never let it fucking happen.”

When Levi regained his erection after a few moments, he was pinning you to his bed, the two of you fully naked and exposed. He’d show you in all the ways he could that he deserved the heavy weight of his title as he pounded into your body. You mewled reassurances and sweet nothings into his ear as he brought you so high up in pleasure, his thumb working your clit. He held you close as he climaxed for the second time, kissing sweetly all over any exposed skin he could reach. He’d never say the words out loud, but humanity’s strongest had a weakness, you.

Still, Levi felt like he could conquer fucking anything as he brought you to your own high, your eyes rolled deep into the back of your skull. Levi kissed you deeply as he finished marking his claim to your exhausted body, head filled with nothing but love and adoration for you. You murmured you had loved him, and he had placed a tender kiss to your forehead as you drifted off.

Levi loved you too, but he’d never find the words to say it.

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

#lacheri's 200 follower event #sheesh this one was a hard one to write for me #kinda got lazy at the end but fuckkk levi literally owns my entire ass

[purplesurveys]

1070

[found at: --rainboweyes--]

When was the last time you did clay work/pottery? The one time I did pottery was I thinkkkkk during our trip to Vigan? Somewhere up north, anyway. That was around 3 or 4 years ago.

Do you like art, hate it or just not mind it? I love looking at art and can be in museums all day long; but I hate analyzing it and having to read into metaphors or symbolisms. I just appreciate the brush strokes, the colors used...basically the skills and hard work that went into the artwork.

If you had to choose would you prefer dull pain for 12 hours or sharp for 2? Sharp for two, plz. I have had dull headaches all week that have lasted into the night and I absolutely hate it.

Koala or Kangaroo? I like either.

Do you know the words to the national anthem of your country? Of course.

Is your country ruled by a president, prime minister, queen or other? President. Our current one’s an incompetent one, but yeah a president I guess.

Does blue occur in your national flag? Yes. We place the blue section on top when the country’s at peace, and we flip it to the bottom side if we’re otherwise at war - fortunately I’ve never seen the red be put on top throughout my lifetime so far.

Talking of flags. Do you like football/soccer? I’ve personally never seen the appeal of either, but that’s just me.

If yes, do you play and what position? If not, leave blank.

Would you rather be a Model, Famous Scientist, Singer or Chef? I’d like to be a scientist, just not a famous one. Like can I just be lowkey smart? Lmao

Would you rather be a pilot, crime scene investigator or estate agent? Pilot. That would have been so rad. I have a friend who flies nearly every week and his photos always look awesome. Maybe I’ll take lessons one day.

Does making others happy really make you feel happy? It’s my main way of keeping happy.

What color literally doesn't appear in your wardrobe at all? Purple. Never looked good on me. I wanna add orange since I dislike the color as well, but I remember the orange top I have that I never got around to throwing out. I’m pretty sure I also don’t own any brown.

Do you actually read the answers others give to your surveys [I do]? Yes. Sometimes I’ll be gone for several days and there’ll be so many new survey entries that I can’t always read everyone’s answers, but for the most part I do try to take a look at the ones I see.

Did you ever swear at a teacher in school? Why? I’ve sworn at them behind their backs, but that’s it.

Have you ever pricked your finger on Holly or another 'sharp' plant? I’ve definitely been a victim of thorns before.

Speaking of Holly, do you adore Christmas or does it bug you? It makes me lonely for the most part. But I was happy this year because my dad was home, and both sides of my family managed to make get-togethers work while still following protocol.

Have you ever wrote your own short story? I tried writing fanfiction when I first discovered them, but that was when I learned I was unbelievably terrible with fictional work. My career as a budding author did not last any longer than two weeks, lmao.

What about a novel? Or perhaps you started and couldn't finish? Nope. I believe I tried this as well, but I just didn’t have both the creativity and commitment for it.

Either of the above, if this was the case, place short synopsis here: Couples I shipped and that is cringey enough so that is all you need to know.

Do you prefer SciFi/Fantasy/Action/Horror or Rom/Com/RealLife? When it comes to fanfiction still? Or just in general? I like stories that are most likely to happen in real life, so I enjoy dramas the most. Romcoms are also cute and they’re what I turn to whenever I need to de-stress. I do like horror as well but my interest has waned a bit through the years; sci-fi is a hit or miss for me; I don’t hold any interest for either fantasy or action.

What do you have a lot of faith in [note: can be anything]? It’s hard to hold a lot of that these days.

Think of a material thing you want. Name it here (material, made or bought] Right now I want a projector. I keep YouTube videos playing on my phone throughout my shift to serve as background noise, but I wish I had a bigger screen :( I have a blank wall in my room so a projector would be perfect rn.

Would $100/$60 be enough for this item? I can definitely find a projector in that price range on Shopee, lol.

How about $1000/$600? That’s more than enough and can get me a high-end projector at this point.

Would you rather have a big house, a lot of kids or a high flying job? The last one is a priority for me now.

Have you ever been to a creepy/haunted/abandoned place? I’ve been to many places rumored to be haunted, like particular spots in my high school.

What did it look like and what were the circumstances? Idk the so-called haunted areas in my school were all everyday spots, like certain washrooms and the penthouse in the high school building. An outsider probably wouldn’t suspect they were haunted unless someone else told them.

It’s nearing 10:30 PM and it’s pitch-black in my room, so I’d rather not explain the stories behind the ~haunted spots LOL

What's your favorite dip? Depends on what food I’m dipping? There are so many kinds of dips, dude.

Chocolate Cookies or Fudge Brownies? Just chocolate cookies? As in double chocolate, not chocolate chip? I never liked that flavor. I’m going with fudge brownies.

I give you a little baby puppy. What do you name him? It will depend on their personality. Cooper was a smartass from the get-go so we named him after Sheldon Cooper.

Is crime a big problem in your area? Not in my city, fortunately. But my country generally doesn’t have a good rep when it comes to crime. I always hear of unjust killings every week, if not every day.

What's your town/city most well known for? Being on a mountain, a famous biking spot, a famous climbing spot, the view of the metro it gives at night.

Do you know a Jack? What's he like? I don’t think so. No one is coming to mind.

How about a Lisa? What's she like? Our neighbor from my childhood home is a Lisa. I have not seen her since I was like 10, so I have no clue how she’s doing these days.

Are most your friends older, younger or the same age as you? Same age, since most of my friends are the people I went to high school/college with.

Do you subconsciously hang out with those with the same star sign as you or as each other, perhaps due to certain personality traits? Think about it: Astrology makes me cringe.

Name 5 objects that you don't have but would like right now? A 2021 planner, scented candles, Ivy Park merch, a massage pillow, skincare products.

When you have children, would you like twins? Probably not.

Do you know any twins? If so, what are they called? Yeah I was classmates with a pair in an English elective I had in college. We ended up being friends that semester, but we don’t interact much anymore. I’m not giving away their names, but I’m sad that I was never able to tell them apart :/

If you were given the choice to choose your child’s gender, would you? Absolutely yeah, if it were possible. I’d preferably have all girls.

What instrument would you love to learn how to play? The piano.

Does the sound of knocking/tapping startle you? If it comes out as a loud thud, yeah. It’s more likely to irritate me, though.

What's the scariest story/urban legend/creepypasta etc you heard? Skipping this as it’s nearing 10:45 PM and I don’t need any images to come to mind right now lol

Do you miss someone currently? Always.

When was the last time you were in hospital? What for [if comfy saying]? Needed to get a urine and blood test to check my platelet count, because my parents and I thought I had dengue.

When was the last time you went to the dentist? December 2019 when I needed a pesky toothache dealt with ASAP, and when my dentist discovered a decayed tooth that needed to be removed.

Do you get along well with your family doctor/your doctor? We don’t have a family doctor. I only go to the doctor when I’m sick, and we go to different ones every time haha.

What personality trait does nearly everyone in your family seem to have? Everyone hides their emotions, to a point that it’s unhealthy. No one just wants to address the elephant in the room, which is precisely a part of the problem. I’m 100% certain we are all suffering and fighting our own battles quietly.

The survey’s ended. I hope you enjoyed it. :) This was a pleasant one to take :)

#survey #surveys

[sassyshoulderangel319]

Daring Rescue

IDK. I LOVE the mermaid aesthetic and think it’s fabulous, but sometimes you just gotta shake it up. Punk!merfolk sound great and who better than Virgil? XD ChillpunkmerVirgilisawesome

“Look, all I’m saying is that you look a little... try-hard,” Logan said.

“Shut up,” Virgil retorted.

“Virgil, I understand you have a theme going on, but... you just look... Extra.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Remus too much.”

Ignoring Logan sighing out his gills, Virgil lounged on the rocks. Idly, he spun his trident around. It was made of black steel and studded with silver. It made him smirk in satisfaction just looking at it. It had taken him five years to get all the right materials together to make his weapon match his aesthetic.

Logan went on alert, spear in hand snapping upright. “Someone’s coming,” he hissed. “A mer.”

Virgil didn’t get off his rock. Just twitched his tail and put one arm behind his head. “How can you tell?”

“Can’t you smell the blood?”

“Not all of us are shark mers, Lo,” Virgil said, twiddling with the shark tooth on his necklace while his purple hair drifted around his head, too short to get tangled.

“Shouldn’t we get out of here?” Logan asked, looking around curiously. “What if they’re dangerous?”

“We’ll be fine. We’re warriors of the Crown. We can handle one measly mer on our own,” Virgil said.

“You’re remarkably relaxed.”

Virgil shrugged and spun his trident near Logan’s face to make a point. “We’ll be fine.”

Logan glanced in the direction the smell of blood was coming from and dodged cautiously around a large coral formation for cover. Virgil rolled his eyes and didn’t bother getting off his rock. Though, he could feel a disturbance in the current that signaled someone was coming. Huh. Logan was right. Logan was usually right.

^^^^^

Patton trembled and tried not to. It had been a long time since he’d been this deep. The shine of his scales was dulled in the darkness. Almost no sunlight made it this deep. He was much more surface-based---as evidenced by his freckles functioning the same way a human’s did. “R-Roman?” he called, quietly. “Roman, this isn’t---isn’t funny! Cut it out! Can we please go home?” He folded his arms over his ribs and used his hands to try and suppress the sound of his gills panting. This deep the water was nearly silent and he could hear his breathing.

His arm was bleeding from Roman enthusiastically dragging him into the trench and scraping it on the rock wall. He almost didn’t notice.

He couldn’t see anything. He was much more used to the shallows where the sun illuminated everything.

“You’re a long way from home, surmer,” a voice remarked.

Patton shrieked and whirled.

A deep-waters mer was lounging on a rock, bioluminescent freckles lighting up the black-and-silver trident he was twirling. His tail was dark violet with black patches and powerfully built.

“What... what did you call me?” Patton asked, voice trembling.

“A surmer. You’re a surface merperson,” the merman remarked.

Patton shook and used his tail to back away. He’d always heard deep water mers had a weird culture, and this guy seemed to be proving it. He had several shell piercings up both ears, a shark tooth hanging from a cord around his neck, and blackness lining his eyes. “I... I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you’ll excuse me... I gotta go find my friend.” He moved to leave.

The bioluminescent merman scoffed. “Surmers always were cowards. Can’t handle anything deeper than a couple hundred feet.”

Patton didn’t take the bait, just kept swimming. He was a fast swimmer near the surface, but the pressure this deep was making it harder for him to move, let alone race off.

The violet merman swam over, smirking. “What? Am I scaring you?”

“You don’t have to,” Patton retorted. “I’m already scared.” He met the violet merman’s eyes sharply, his own flashing a pale blue as he ducked underneath the man and kept going.

“You said you were looking for a friend. Maybe we saw them. What do they look like?” The merman followed after him.

“He’s got a red tail and red-to-green hair. I doubt you saw him,” Patton said. “And what do you mean, ‘we’?”

“All merfolk smaller than leviathans have pods, surmer. I meant me and my podmate.”

“Stop calling me that!” Patton snapped.

“Well you didn’t tell me your name, so I gotta call you sumpthin’,” the deep water merman said casually.

Patton glared as well as he could in the darkness. “It’s Patton, okay? Now leave me alone. I need to find Roman and your glowing isn’t helping me not freak out.”

“Nice to meet you, Patton. I’m Virgil. And what can I say? I’m bioluminescent. Lots of us down here are.”

“Go away. Please.”

Virgil scoffed and caught Patton’s arm. “You’re bleeding.” He turned to shout over his shoulder, “Hey Logan! I found the source of the blood you were smelling!”

Emerging from the darkness of the depths was a shark-type mer. Sharp teeth and eyes with a dark grey tail swishing through the water side-to-side instead of up-and-down. There was a spear held loosely in his right hand. He peered at Patton curiously. Patton couldn’t help but shrink away. Shark-types were rare close to the surface and could smell blood. If they were anything like normal sharks, the scent of blood could cause a feeding frenzy. “You’re from the surface,” the shark-type, identified as Logan by Virgil, remarked.

“Y-yes,” Patton said.

Logan took Patton’s bleeding arm and wrapped it in seaweed. “This should stifle the bleeding for now. You’d hate to bring actual sharks or shark-type mers with less control than me down on you.” He set his hands on his hips. “Now. You said you were looking for a friend---Roman, if I heard correctly.”

Patton nodded. He liked Logan better than he liked Virgil. Virgil seemed... dangerous. The trident-twirling didn’t help. He was intimidating. Scary. Logan seemed calm and level-headed. “Yeah. He dragged me down here. He’s... he’s the adventurous one. But when it got dark, we got separated and now I can’t find him.”

Logan inspected Patton again, taking in the dulled shine of his scales. “We’ll help you find him,” Logan said.

Virgil didn’t appear to be interested in the conversation. Just twisted the shaft of his trident around in his left hand and stared off into the darkness. But at Logan’s words he tuned in again. “Oh yeah, sure. In fact, I bet I know where he is.”

“Where?” Patton asked.

Virgil smirked. “Probably in the eel’s lair. Adventurous types always end up there.”

“The eel’s lair?”

“The lair of an eel-type merman who is proficient in magic,” Logan supplied. “Adventurers like to seek him out looking for spells and potions to aid them. Deep-water pods avoid him for the most part.”

“Is he... dangerous?”

“Anyone can be dangerous so that’s a difficult word to use. He is, however, tricky. He likes loopholes and double meanings.” Logan glanced at Virgil. “We might as well take a look.”

“What’s this eel’s name?” Patton asked. Naming things made them less scary.

Virgil shrugged. “No one down here knows. Like the shark said, we avoid him. But his reputation for tricking his... customers has earned him the nickname Deceit.”

Patton shivered from the top of his head to the ends of his fluke.

Logan noticed. “Don’t worry. We won’t make you go inside. Virgil and I will go in. If we find your friend, we’ll escort him out.”

“Actually, I’ll just go in,” Virgil said. “Lo, you stay outside and keep your eye on the surmer. It’s dangerous for cowards like him this deep.”

“I’m not a coward!” Patton exclaimed.

“Whatever. Let’s get moving.”

^^^^^

Virgil glanced at Logan and Patton as he readied his trident. “Stay here. Logan keep the surmer safe. Patton, don’t wander off. I’ll be back.” He twisted and dove into Deceit’s tunnel entrance to his cave. His knuckles turned white on the shaft of his trident.

“Weeellllll... if it isssn’t my ooold friiieeend,” a deep voice hissed. The glimmering scales of an eel wrapped briefly around Virgil’s tail before slithering off and swooping in front of him.

“Deceit,” Virgil replied flatly.

“Ohhh. Too good to ussse my real name now, old friend?”

“Logan is outside. With a surface merman,” Virgil said. “The surface merman is looking for a friend. Adventurous type. Red tail. Red-to-green hair. Goes by the name of Roman.”

“Oh, I’m sssure I haven’t ssssssseen sssuch a merman.” Deceit smiled, revealing his sharp teeth. His scales reached far past his waist, crawling even over his face, giving one eye a slit-pupil eel look.

“Deceit,” Virgil growled. “Give him up. Now.”

“I don’t have thisss merman you ssspeak of,” Deceit said.

“Don’t try me.” Virgil leveled his trident at Deceit’s throat. “I left your pod for a reason, you monstrous eel.” He pressed the middle, longest prong of his trident against Deceit’s throat.

“Ohhh. All grown up now, are we?” Deceit smiled.

“Look, just give me Roman and I’ll get out of your scales.”

“Nothing comesss without a priccce, old friend.”

Virgil clenched his jaw. “How about the price is that I don’t skewer you where you float?” he growled.

“Ooh. Somebody getsss a big ssscary stick and suddenly he’sss the boss? Honey, that’s a laugh and a half.”

“Don’t try me,” Virgil repeated. “I’ve grown since I left your pod.”

“Ssso have I, dear Virgil,” Deceit hissed.

Virgil encroached on Deceit’s space harder, prong slicing the skin of the eel-type’s throat. Blood floated through the water, diffusing in the sea. “Let. Roman. Go.”

The humanoid skin on the right side of Deceit’s face went pale. “Alright, alright. But the biiillllll comesss duuue, little Virgil.”

Deceit waved a hand.

The darkness of the cave lifted somewhat to reveal a merman bound in kelp. Muscular, he matched Patton’s description. He wasn’t much longer than Virgil, but his tail was built for power. Virgil’s for speed.

Another wave of Deceit’s hand and the merman was free from the kelp. He whirled.

“Take him and go. But when you come back, the priccce will be sssteep.”

Virgil grabbed Roman’s wrist and pushed him behind him. “I don’t intend to ever come back, Deceit,” he spat. Turning tail, Virgil dragged Roman after him. “You’re another surmer. Your friend Patton came looking for you.”

Roman stared at the row of shell piercings up Virgil’s ear. “Did you know him?”

“A long time ago. Don’t tell anyone,” Virgil growled. His knuckles were white on his trident again.

“I sense a bad history.”

“Don’t. Tell. Anyone,” Virgil snapped again, voice dark. His grip tightened on Roman’s wrist.

“Okay, okay. Sheesh. I won’t.”

“Good.”

They reached the mouth of the cave. Virgil shoved Roman in Patton’s direction.

“Ro! You’re okay!” Patton exclaimed, throwing his arms around Roman’s shoulders.

“You two should head back to the surface. Immediately,” Virgil said. Logan watched the color return to Virgil’s knuckles as his grip on his trident slacked. The two surface mermen stared at him.

“Y-yes. Of---of course,” Patton stammered. “Ro, let’s go. Please?”

Roman nodded agreement. He gave Virgil a slight bow of his head in gratitude, put a hand on Patton’s back, and pushed him up toward the surface before following after. Virgil glanced over at Logan.

“We should get out of here too. This place gives me the creeps,” he said.

Logan grunted. “Indeed. Even for the depths this water is frigid. Let’s be off.”

Side-by-side, they swam away from Deceit’s lair.

^^^^^

Deceit clicked his tongue, watching the Pearl’s image of the violet merman and his shark companion as they swam away from Deceit’s cave. “Flee, little Virgil. Flee,” he whispered maliciously. “But you’ll be back. One day. You’ll need something from me. And you’ll be back. I promissse.”

#my writing #Sanders Sides #Virgil Sanders #Logan Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Deceit Sanders #when did Virgil become the Bad Boy? #IDK #oops #bad characterization #mermaid #mermaid!AU #Deceit doesn't hiss on every S sound #just when he's trying to be intimidating #writing

[artificialqueens]

She Calls Me Your Highness - Sharon/Willam - pureCAMP

A/N - not sure how i managed this because i literally have an exam on monday but in the space of a few hours in the afternoon i wrote this and voila i guess its a fic challenge entry!

i went with sharon/willam for my rarepair (we need more of this wtf) and see if you can spot some of the silly cliches in here! i hope u all enjoy and pls send me lots of love bc i need it, like tinkerbell

(this is so long idk why aaaa)

Willam has an odd relationship with Sharon.

Well. That’s one way of putting it, anyway.

It started, she pondered, the moment they had met, eight years ago at the tender age of thirteen. Sharon was this scruffy thing, tall and skinny and entirely too long to look normal, dressed in ill-fitting scraps with a keen glint in her eyes. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek that Willam’s gaze had fixated on immediately.

The large, stocky man behind her coughed subtly, nudging Sharon with his foot. Willam had waited patiently, her parents stood protectively either side of her.

It was the first time anyone had ever forgotten to curtsey.

A sharp thwack to the back of Sharon’s head soon corrected that wrong, and then she grinned at Willam as if to apologise. Which, whilst charming, was definitely not the correct protocol to address a young princess.

“Sharon.” The handler hissed. “Do you intend on eating tonight? Introduce yourself.”

Willam pursed her lips and remained silent; after all, she had been taught to do so. It was polite to allow non-royal folk a chance to exercise their poor attempts at grace and decorum. As a future ruler, it would make her look kind and down-to-earth, which was a desirable image. Everything was about cultivating the right image, as Willam would come to learn.

Sharon ran a hand - skeletal, with long, knobbly fingers - through her ratty almost-white hair. “Hello.”

Her voice was plain, provincial, with a hint of theatricality behind the emphasis in the way she spoke. There was nothing too offensive about it, but her parents had gasped as though affronted and the handler, who Willam was beginning to dislike, delivered another well-placed slap to the back of Sharon’s head.

She had forgotten to address her properly.

Rubbing the tender spot, she tried again. “Hello, Willam?”

Back then, Willam hadn’t known that she should be taking offense, but all children learn through doing. Surely, logically, judging by the muttered curses of her father and the utter mortification of the now-exasperated handler, she should be highly taken aback. She did her best to mimic their expressions, and to suppress the slight twinge of sympathy she felt when yet another blow struck the young girl.

At that point, it had seemed like Sharon was truly at a loss. Looking back on it, she hadn’t behaved insolent and rude, she had simply behaved like a child who didn’t know any better - or a child who knew better but had evidently forgotten in the face of a brand new situation.

“Princess?” Sharon attempted a third time, the glint in her eyes replaced with a nervous, hopeful shine.

The final blow came out of nowhere, and knocked the unsteady girl to the ground. Her height meant nothing in the absence of adolescent strength, and she hit the floor with the full force of an adult man. The handler placed his foot in the centre of her back, grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her head upwards so that, as she struggled for breath, her eyes could meet nobody’s except for Willam’s. Her face was directly level with Willam’s feet.

“G-Good to meet you, Your Highness.”

Satisfied, Willam’s parents and the somewhat cruel handler left the room to begin their business discussion, something that Willam was no doubt too young to understand or take part in. She didn’t know why Sharon had been brought to her, or why anything that had happened in the last few minutes had actually happened, but such was the life of a princess learning to be queen. Sharon stayed on the floor, her gaze still level with Willam’s feet, her breaths shaky and uneven.

Everyone said that was simply her place; on the ground, far beneath Willam. A lowly serving girl and nothing more.

It only took a few lessons in grace and status for Willam to learn that it was indeed the truth, and to quietly, complacently accept that girls like Sharon belonged where they were, and were treated how they were treated for good reason. So after that it was okay, she presumed.

–

Then they were fifteen, and Willam’s parents were holding a ball in the palace. It was fantastic news for Willam, who had been dying to meet with her friends for ages only to find them all busy with various courtly duties. Princess Alaska of the neighbouring kingdom had been away in some special school, no doubt nurturing her singing talent, and Willam had missed laughing with her. Princess Courtney hadn’t exactly been busy, per se, but she lived so far that the expenditures for travelling were a little too high, so letters had to suffice.

That meant that Willam’s only real company - discounting the governesses, who didn’t count because they were fucking boring - were the servants. Most of them didn’t really speak to Willam all that much, hyper aware that saying the wrong thing could cost more than their job was worth. Only one ever seemed to have the sheer gall to bite back and engage - and to nobody’s surprise, it was Sharon.

Willam reasoned to herself that she had requested Sharon specifically an hour and a half before the ball began because she was entertaining. Yes, that was it. That was the only reason, of course.

Her entrance was less than graceful, starkly different to that of the other serving girls. She didn’t lightly pad in, delicately opening the door and balancing the teapot and tray in the other arm - oh no, not at all. Sharon, ever the practical one, opted to barge the door open with her hip and charge in with the tea laid out in the tray which she held steadily with two hands.

Practical, yes, but unconventional and unbecoming of a palace servant.

“Hey, it’s my favourite ever princess. Afternoon, Willam.” She settled the tray down on a nearby table and flashed a grin - showing off her hideous gap tooth. It wasn’t hideous, really, and Willam was quite fond of it, but she had been told it wasn’t desirable, so she pretended she found it disgusting.

“You’re not supposed to call me that.” She retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sharon shrugged. “What, princess?”

She was being pedantic. Sharon was always pedantic, which would’ve been infuriating if Willam wasn’t secretly the same way. Plus, although it was a secret she would never share, Willam was sure that if Sharon wore nicer clothes, tended to her hair and scrubbed off the dirt that appeared habitually on her cheeks, she would be quite pleasing to look at. Only if she made all that effort, though.

“No, Willam. You’re not supposed to call me Willam.”

The argument was pointless. Sharon shrugged a second time.

“It’s your God-given name, isn’t it? Am I not allowed to address you as God would?”

“You’re not God.”

“And thank fuck for that.”

Yeah, that was another thing about Sharon; she swore like a sailor, and it had gotten her in heaps of trouble throughout her time at the palace. Willam, nevertheless, appreciated the refreshing colloquialisms that reminded her that life existed beyond the palace walls.

Sharon picked up the tray again, starting towards the parlour that led off from Willam’s bedchambers. Still laughing, Willam shook her head and flopped onto the bed beside her ballgown, which was laid out ready for the evening.

“Sharon…” She whined, deliberately elongating her name. “Just do it in here, I can’t be bothered to walk all the way into there.”

The fatal mistake came when Willam grabbed Sharon’s forearm, forgetting that her hands were perpetually icy and shocking to the touch. Sharon jerked instinctively, and time seemed to slow down as the tray clattered to the floor, the teapot spilled open, and its entire contents splattered over Willam’s ballgown.

Willam stifled a laugh, which stilled into a chilling silence as she studied Sharon’s face. She had frozen in place, her mouth open ever-so-slightly, her eyes wide and filled with fright. Fragments of the now-shattered teapot littered the floor as evidence of the mistake and the dress… The dress was utterly ruined.

“Sharon, it’s okay-” Willam began, before one of the governesses came to discover the source of the sudden commotion.

“What is- Oh, you useless girl!” She cried out, grabbing Sharon by the wrist and forcing her aside. “Look what you’ve done to that beautiful dress! That cost more than your whole family could earn in ten years!”

The analogy shook Willam a little bit, wondering if it meant that the dress was expensive, Sharon’s family was poor, or an upsetting mixture of the two. More worrying was the attitude and confidence that had drained out of Sharon and puddled on the floor along with the tea.

“I-I know, ma’am, I’m sorry.”

Willam remembered being so annoyed that Sharon was taking the blame. She hadn’t done anything wrong, for crying out loud, and yet she had clammed up uncharacteristically and accepted her responsibility for it.

“Ada, be reasonable.” Willam tried to calm the angry governess. “Look, all that happened was that Sharon was carrying the tea into the parlour and I-”

Sharon cut in swiftly. “I stumbled and dropped the tray, ma’am. I-I truly didn’t mean to, and if you would permit me to express how sorry I am I would like to redeem myself by helping Her Highness prepare for the ball.”

The governess snorted. “Hmph. Insolent girl. You may help the princess, after you have been punished for this silly amateur mishap. Do not let this happen again or the consequences will be much more severe. In the meantime, I will have Governess Nina bring out the spare gown.”

Willam lay on the bed and closed her eyes after they left, humming to try and drown out the sound of the whip cracking through the air and the pained cries that followed each one. She turned over once and then again, her stomach churning with a mixture of guilt and anger that didn’t sit well with her at all. She would never be able to figure out Sharon Needles, she decided, as a particularly agonised scream had her curling in on herself, sure she had caused that pain and simultaneously adamant that she hadn’t, given Sharon’s insistence.

She was fucking confusing, that was for sure.

Still as unwavering as ever, Sharon had appeared nonetheless a short while later, her hair more dishevelled than before and her face adorning a tight smile. Her steps were slow and deliberate and Willam ached to think of the damage the cruel whip had done to her, for no reason. She said nothing as Sharon let herself in, and examined the new dress on the bed.

“Well. If anything, I think this dress is prettier than the first one.” Sharon said dryly.

Willam rose to her feet, incensed. “Why the fuck would you do that? You know damn well that was my fault and she would never have fucking whipped me for it, so why even bother taking the blame? Are you an idiot?”

“No, Willam, I’m a servant. I’m beneath you. It’s my job to take the flack when shit like this happens.”

She had crossed her arms, and Willam’s eyes darted unwittingly to her chest before rising up again, only adding to her flushed cheeks.

“Your job is to serve, not to lie and take the heat for me.”

Sharon rolled her eyes and began to prepare the dress for Willam. “You’re welcome.”

“…Thanks.” Willam acquiesced, huffing slightly. “I’m not gonna apologise for going off on you, because I meant it and also I don’t apologise, but thanks for doing that. It wasn’t necessary, but it was nice I guess.”

It hit Willam all of a sudden the many times she had broken or ruined something, and the many times she had received no penance for it. Perhaps it wasn’t such a coincidence that Sharon always had dirt on her cheek, a bruise on her arm, a limp in her walk. Surely she hadn’t been taking responsibility for that the whole time?

God, if Sharon could stop and make sense for five minutes, it would make Willam’s life a lot easier. She still couldn’t work out if she actually liked Sharon, or if she didn’t.

“You’re not… you’re not mad at me, right?” Willam breached the topic as she stood before the mirror, Sharon behind her.

Sharon’s fingers were still long and knobbly, but swift and adept at performing most tasks she was asked to do. She fiddled with the laces of the corset and raised an eyebrow in nonchalance.

“Sounding a little insecure there, Willam.”

Infuriating. “No, I just mean - God, you’re an asshole. I mean for taking all the hits for me.”

“I’m not mad.” Sharon replied shortly.

She tugged on the corset strings, and Willam bucked forward, all of the air in her throat exiting in one strangled gasp as Sharon viciously tightened it to suck in her waist.

Oh, she was mad. Yeah, Willam didn’t like her again.

–

Eighteen years old. Another ball. Courtney was somewhere fraternizing with the rest of the foreigners (as Willam affectionately called her family and the rest of them), and Willam would rather die than talk to Vicky, so she started looking around for Alaska. She should’ve known the leggy blonde wasn’t there from the absence of her screechy laugh, but she paced the ballroom for a short while before deciding to step out into the gardens in a fit of anger.

Alaska wasn’t even in the ballroom, and Willam knew she hadn’t skipped out on the event because she had seen her sweeping in with her parents, her petite figure hidden beneath her opulent blue gown.

Where the hell had she got to?

Willam grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing servant and began to wander through the garden, stewing in her own frustration. The tightness of her corset wasn’t helping matters, either, as she tried to sit on a bench a few inches from the barn and found the task nearly impossible. Briefly, she thought about the freedom of the birds that fluttered above her in the branches, before dismissing the notion as too cliche and sickeningly cringy. Willam had more freedom than she cared to acknowledge - her only real constraint was fashion.

Still, she kicked a trowel out of her way and began pacing again, irritated at Alaska’s absence. She better have a good explanation for it, or else Willam would have to write to Vicky after the ball and tell her that Alaska was absolutely enchanted with her, and they should meet up as soon as possible to discuss a family alliance. It was cruel, yes, but it was what she deserved for leaving Willam all alone. She sighed, and turned back towards the palace.

The barn light was on.

Why the hell was the barn light on? Nobody was in the barn. There weren’t even any horses in the barn, or whatever else was kept in there (Willam didn’t know, having never been allowed to step foot somewhere so dirty). If some idiot servant had left the candles lit amongst all that hay, there would be hell to pay - that is, if the entire fucking palace didn’t burn down.

She considered fetching Charles, the gardener, but figured that it wasn’t fair to bother him on his night off. Her mind filled her with instances of Sharon - fucking Sharon crossing her mind again, annoying bitch - taking the blame for Willam’s messiness, and she decided perhaps it was her time to help out a forgetful servant.

The door to the barn was heavy, but opened slowly and silently as Willam pushed on it. It allowed her ample time to examine the room before her, taking in nothing but piles of hay and candles lit all around the edges to give the place some light. Empty, it seemed.

Or not. The silence of the door and Willam’s light footsteps gave nothing away as she slowly stepped in, snuffing the two candles either side of the door. It made little difference to the amount of light in the room, but it was a start. Two more steps forwards towards the next candle and Willam suddenly heard a rustling that made her heart stop.

Was it some kind of wild animal? Or a trap, maybe, designed to lure an innocent - allegedly - princess to her grisly end? Okay, maybe not so much the last one, considering the amount of variables that had led to Willam entering the barn in the first place. Still, some kind of crazy raccoon or fox wasn’t really off limits, not yet.

Willam held her breath as she began to tiptoe around the largest mound of hay, which rose up several feet beyond her height. Then, filling her with first fear, then dread, and lastly confusion, she heard a giggle.

“Do that again,” A voice floated out, ever-so quiet, and yet oddly familiar in a way Willam couldn’t place. She stood still and listened.

Another voice replied. “What, this?”

Both voices seemed far too familiar, but in her confusion Willam had no idea who they were. She kept straining to listen, hoping that the more she heard, the sooner she would remember who the voices belonged to. In the meantime, she heard a soft gasp and a satisfied hum.

“If someone saw us right now-” The first voice said, though she didn’t sound worried at all.

“What would you do?” The second asked, and did something that caused the first to giggle again.

“Probably keep kissing you.”

A gasp. “You’re so bad.”

“You’re a bad influence on me, baby. Oh my god!”

Whatever the oh my god was in response to, Willam didn’t care to find out, because the voices suddenly registered in her mind and it was enough to send her reeling. She stepped out from behind the hay to confront to two.

“Okay, what the fuck?!”

Willam wasn’t quite sure what she expected, but this certainly wasn’t it.

Alaska lay against the hay, her beautiful gown still thankfully draped across her but her hair and her lipstick all in disarray. Her eyes were sparkling with what initially seemed like arousal, but something deeper and more tender filled her gaze. Straddled over her hips was Sharon, dressed in a manner than Willam had never seen her in before, her eyes clouded with the same amalgamation of lust, desire and affection as Alaska’s. For starters, she was wearing breeches, which were impossibly tight and brown and clung to every sinful curve of her ass and thighs in a way that was deeply inappropriate for any lady, even a poor one. The off-white blouse she was wearing had long, billowing sleeves that were rolled up to her elbows, and it was half ripped open, presumably by Alaska’s hands, to reveal her breasts. Her chest was heaving up and down and Willam couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Willam!” Alaska screeched, pushing Sharon off of her and shooting to her feet. “I - uh - we were just-”

“Save it.” Willam nearly spat, not sure why she was angry but too incensed to step back and think about it. “I can see what you were doing, it’s clear as fucking crystal. Are you insane?! She’s a servant!”

Alaska babbled helplessly, fussing with her hair and trying her hardest to save face. Sharon, now stood a few feet behind her, was breathing heavily, evidently also angry, but her failure to button up her shirt had Willam going dizzy.

“You’re a princess, and she’s a servant.” She repeated, well aware that this was what was causing Sharon’s fiery glare. “And you’re making out in my fucking barn? Don’t you have any common sense? Aren’t your parents in the midst of planning your fucking marriage?”

Alaska had the decency to look ashamed, but still attempted to defend herself. “Actually, they’re not, Willam. I did what you said and I told them I’m not ready, and they said it was okay and they’ve given me more time.”

“How did you even meet? Is this the first time that you’ve-” The words caught in Willam’s throat, but she didn’t know why. She refused to meet Sharon’s eyes and directed her fury to Alaska.

“I-”

Sharon stepped forwards, and Willam hated how shameless she was with her nudity. “No, Your Highness, this isn’t the first time this has happened. But not here.”

They both fell silent. Neither of them told Willam where they had met, and her wrath only incurred further. Still, Alaska’s eyes were filled with guilty tears, and perhaps it was time she doled out some of her anger on Sharon instead.

“Your mother wants you. Go find her.”

Alaska didn’t need to be told twice, first shooting a pained glance in Sharon’s direction and then lifting her skirt to exit the barn as quickly as she possibly could. Willam redirected her anger to Sharon, who looked exquisite in the softly flickering candlelight.

What?

“Don’t be so harsh on Alaska, this isn’t her fault.” Sharon said roughly.

Willam snorted derisively. “What, so you’re taking the blame for everything she does wrong now, too? Guess I’m not so special after all, huh.”

Sounding a little insecure there, Willam. “Wrong?”

It was only one word, but it was laced with a dangerous tone that sent shivers running down Willam’s spine, and yet… a peculiar feeling pooling in her lower half. What the hell was Sharon doing to her?

“Whatever. Listen to me, Sharon, I want to know -”

“No.” Sharon came closer, and yet again Willam found her eyes somehow mesmerised by her exposed breasts. “No, I wanna talk about why you think it’s so disgusting and wrong for someone like Alaska to be kissing someone like me.”

Willam swallowed angrily. “I didn’t say that.”

“You meant it though, didn’t you? All you fucking royal folk are the same, you think I’m some kind of dirty plaything that everyone wants to look at but won’t touch. I care about Alaska.”

“All of us royal folk? Can you even hear the bullshit you’re spouting right now?” Willam spluttered.

Sharon’s face hardened. “You haven’t stopped staring since you walked in. I know exactly what I fucking mean.”

She sighed heavily. “I met Alaska at the ball six months ago, when I was on serving duty. She was sweet and she started asking me about myself, and I didn’t tell her anything because that’s my fucking job as a lowlife servant, but she kept trying and she was so kind that she wore me down. It wasn’t long after that when she found out about my side-gig and she begged me to show her. This is my fault, not hers.”

Willam’s blood ran cold as she pictured the two of them together in more intimate situations - various states of undress, or perhaps entirely unclothed, kissing hard and fast in sleazy taverns across the kingdom.

“Your… side-gig?” Despite her best efforts, Willam’s voice was wracked with confusion and - regrettably - a hint of fear.

Sharon shook her head, like the assumption offended her. “I’m not a prostitute, Willam, I wasn’t offering her my services. I - There’s a group of us down in the outskirts of the kingdom who grew up poor and working on our scraps of farm land. There used to be a ton of bandits, so we learned how to fight them off and they’re gone now, but there’s this small sparring club where we keep fit and teach others to fight. I’ve been privately sparring with Alaska for the last few months, and… I guess one thing led to another.”

Sparring? That was an improvement from prostitution, sure, but the trust and the intimacy of it didn’t escape her mind. She could see the two of them sweating and panting, Alaska dressed in the same inappropriate garb as Sharon as their limbs connected, blocking and dodging and swerving with some kind of alluring grace that made no sense. She could see Sharon’s muscles flexing in the tight breeches, watch her chest rising and falling with exhaustion as she ripped the shirt open and poured cold water over her head to cool herself.

What was happening to her?

“Teach me.”

The command came out of nowhere, but a command it was.

“Huh?”

“I said, teach me.” Willam repeated. “And I won’t tell anyone about this.”

Sharon laughed mirthlessly. “Are you blackmailing me?”

This time, it was Willam who stepped closer. They were merely inches apart, and if Willam were to do as much as to suck in a deep breath, her dress would be pressed against Sharon’s bare chest. The very thought had her pulse racing.

“Not blackmailing you. I just… want to learn. Embroidery is boring, and… if I tell the governesses I’ve taken up landscape paintings, they’ll send you with me to keep me safe…”

She smiled gently, not sure where her anger had gone but not missing the blazing heat it had inflamed inside her. It didn’t make any sense, and she was glad it had gone. Her tummy fluttered as Sharon grinned, shyly at first, until her face split into her usual amused expression. God, she’s fucking beautiful in this light.

“Alright, Willam. You’ve got yourself a deal.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I guess I should do up my shirt now, huh.”

Willam eyed the beginnings of a love bite on Sharon’s neck and felt the familiar flames licking at her insides once again. She turned away to leave.

“Should doesn’t always mean you have to. I usually take should as a suggestion, nothing more.”

–

For two years they sparred together, and for two years Willam’s relationship with Sharon seemed to get weirder and weirder. Sparring was just as she’d predicted, hot and heavy, and it was a shock to the system being so physical with someone. Sharon’s boundaries disappeared once they were out in the open, safe from everyone in miles upon miles of green grass that stretched far enough to obscure them from sight.

Most of the time they sparred and talked; sometimes they just sparred; sometimes they just talked. Willam wasn’t as good as Sharon, but she was learning, and most importantly, she was spending time with her.

Not that she was really sure why that made her so happy, but it did.

When Willam arrived at their usual spot, thanking whoever was listening up above for the perfectly cool, fresh weather for training in, she found Sharon alone with a piece of paper held between her hands. She hadn’t noticed Willam’s presence, and didn’t even glance up as she called her name.

Why was she so desperate for Sharon’s attention? She was a fucking princess, everyone paid attention to her.

“Uh, Sharon? Hello?”

Sharon looked up, only for a moment, and then her eyes dropped back down to the paper in front of her. “Yes, I can see you.”

So fucking irritating. Some things would never change, Willam thought to herself. Even as she had grown older, more beautiful, capturing Willam’s attention - she was still a bitch with an attitude far too uncouth for a serving girl. Then again, she supposed, out here Sharon wasn’t a palace servant. She was a sparring teacher and a free woman, a liberty she could seldom enjoy. Willam’s authority didn’t mean shit here.

“Are we sparring today?” Willam tried to tone down the hopefulness in her voice. In truth, she had been looking forwards to it for a fortnight. Her parents had dragged her to another kingdom to sit in on their business relations, in order to get a concept of what she would need to do when it came her time to be queen, but she felt stifled and bored without Sharon to bounce off of. She had declined the offer to come along on the trip, leaving Willam to take some other stuffy maid who lived only to serve, never to laugh or put Willam in her place.

She had thought about Sharon the entire time. Missed her, even. It didn’t make much sense, but she knew that was how she had felt.

“I’m not in the mood.”

Sharon’s words were clipped. Willam sat down beside her, already kitted out in her own breeches so that she didn’t have to worry about grass stains on her clothes, and sighed frustratedly.

“Ugh, thanks. Make me walk all the way out here for nothing, huh?” She complained, wincing at how entitled she sounded. Sometimes being a princess had its downfalls, and this was one of them.

Sharon scowled. “I didn’t have to sit here and wait for you, ungrateful bitch. I came just so you wouldn’t be all freaked out that I ditched you. I just don’t want to fucking spar, that’s all. Go practise with the dummy if you really wanna fight. Work on your precision.”

Willam started pulling grass out of the ground in handfuls, trying and failing to quell the feeling rising in her stomach. What even was it, anyway? Disappointment? Resentment? Anger? Jealousy?

“Too worn out from Alaska, huh?” She remarked petulantly, kicking a clod of mud from the ground and watching it fly through the air.

Sharon folded the letter. “Actually, we split up if you must know. Is it fun being an asshole all the time, or do you ever get bored of it?”

Something stirred inside her, but she didn’t know quite what it was. The concern she felt for her friend - if she could even call Sharon her friend, because she truly had no idea what the relationship between her and her servant would even be called at this point - only appeared afterwards, in the wake of the sudden surge of warmth.

“Shit… God, I’m sorry, Sharon. Is that letter from her?”

Sharon nodded, her mouth set in a hard line. She pulled her knees close to her chest and frowned. “It’s been a long time coming, to be honest. I knew it would arrive at some point, I just didn’t know when. Ever since her coronation she’s been different. She doesn’t want to know me anymore.”

“That’s not true.” Willam attempted to comfort her, reaching out a shaky hand to rub Sharon’s back. That was what people did, right? A normal, friendly action. Electric sparks seemed to jump from her fingertips at the slightest bit of contact.

“She’s been stressed, Sharon, it’s a difficult job. I’m sure it’s not that she doesn’t want to see you.”

“She’s changed.” Sharon insisted, her words tinged with bitterness. “I’ll tell you the truth about her, Willam, she’s just fucking ambitious. She’ll stop at nothing to make herself and her kingdom powerful, it’s all she cares about now. When was the last time she wrote to you? Alaska, she… she’s been distant with me for months now. Doesn’t want to train, doesn’t want to meet up, too busy to care that it was my birthday and I waited up all night for her… All she wants is to have power. Last I heard, she’s in the midst of a proposal from Grigolia. She doesn’t love him, of course, but they’re incredibly influential. It’ll be great for her kingdom.”

She sighed, and it was strained with unshed tears. “I’m happy for her. She got over the anxiety she was having over being a queen and now she’s thriving. I just didn’t realize that I had to be out of the picture for that to happen.”

Willam sucked in a breath, unsure of what to say. She hadn’t even known that Alaska was so worried about her future as a ruler, but then she guessed that she had confided in Sharon during their stint as passionate lovers. Not a single letter had arrived from her in the past few months but again, she had just assumed Alaska was busy with her new duties and her old flame.

“I’m not upset.” Sharon added, sounding far more upset than she was trying to play it off as. “I knew this would happen. I’m - This is what’s best for her, and I got over that long before she even broke up with me. It’s this fucking letter that’s got me. Here, see how fucking different she is now.”

Dear Ms Sharon Needles,

It is regrettable that I inform you of the termination of our relationship. Truly I have loved you for a long time and every moment we spent together I shall treasure in my heart and honour in my memory for as long as I live. Still, I find it pertinent that I explain to you my decision and my reasoning, so that you are not left hanging on to a feeble dream of what once was.

When we met, I was a young princess still unsure of my fate, and you were the escape into the wilderness that I had always dreamed about. How fantastically romantic it was, and thrilling to escape with you and to learn skills that no self-respecting princess should know. It was exhilarating and you, dearest, were breathtaking.

However, I know that you are as aware as I am that a relationship between a simple servant and the queen of a kingdom should never exist. A marriage between us would be impossible and thus, I have to put my loyal subjects and the future of my home before a fling with a heathen. I know that you understand this.

Perhaps we will keep in touch, and I may see you once in a while, should I visit Princess Willam’s home. Rest assured I bear no ill will towards you, but that it is only status keeping us apart.

Farewell and best wishes,

Queen Alaska E.J.T,

Glamatronia

“So politely worded.” Sharon muttered, as Willam came to the end of the neatly-written letter. “Such a kind, loving way to tell me that she’s given up on us because I’m poor and my lowly, shit-shovelling status won’t help her progress in life. I honestly - honestly! - don’t care, it’s just…”

She tore the letter from Willam’s grasp and tucked it into the front pocket of her shirt. “We never talked about status. That never mattered. She was a princess and I was a servant but when we were together, none of that meant anything. She was just Alaska and I was just Sharon.”

A pause. “Sorry. Shouldn’t be talking shit about your friend. Off with my head, right?”

Willam shook her head fervently. “Sharon, this is… I’m so sorry. I don’t know why she’s done this. I don’t… who in their right mind would break up with you?”

Sharon’s eyes shot up. “Huh?”

Did I really just say that? To Sharon? What the hell does that even mean?

“I mean, uh… Well, I mean what I said. Really, what reason does she have besides some bullshit about status?”

Sharon smiled, but it lasted only a moment. “You’re sweet, Willam. But I’m not exactly a catch and I knew that when I began this shit with Alaska. I just hate that she had to remind me that I’m nothing.”

“You’re not nothing. Who says you’re not a catch?” Willam had no control over any of the words that left her lips. She needed to move, or leave, or do something, before she ended up saying something that she would regret for the rest of her life.

This time, Sharon let out a proper laugh, and the harsh, barking cackle was like music to Willam’s ears.

“Are you serious? Willam, look at me.” Please, Sharon, I’m having trouble tearing my eyes away from you. “I’m not marriage material, I have nothing to give. I have no dowry, my father is unknown and so I bear my mother’s maiden name purely because it’s the only one there is, and she died six years ago.” I don’t need money. I don’t need anything, you wouldn’t have to give anything to me. “Plus as far as wifely duties go I’m a mess, sure I can serve but I drink and swear like a sailor and absolutely nobody would find that attractive.” I do, I find it incredibly attractive, I think you’re more beautiful than Aphrodite herself. “I don’t even dress properly, for fuck’s sake. I’m either in a servant uniform or these breeches and shirt, neither of which are appropriate.” But my god do they look good on you, does everything look good on you?

What the hell is happening to me?

“Sharon, come on. You’ve never looked in a mirror and once thought that you’re beautiful? You’ve never heard me laughing at your jokes and realized how funny and charming you are?”

Just like that, Sharon’s features softened. She looked up at Willam, and god, her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue. They reminded Willam of the sky at night, dark and inky and shining with flecks of stars, and all at once everything made sense to her. The misplaced anger, the confusion, the rising jealousy…

Sharon had been setting her heart aflame for years and she had been ignoring it for way too long.

“You… you think I’m beautiful? And charming?” Sharon ran a hand through her hair, an action Willam had become accustomed to watching her do when she was nervous. “God, with all the shit I’ve said to you in the palace over the years I should be sat in a dungeon, not being complimented by you. This makes no sense.”

Willam shook her head softly. “Fuck… Sharon, you’ve never made sense to me. I don’t think you ever will.”

Sharon’s hair was as soft as it looked, and her skin was smooth and warm, and somehow they were kissing and Willam’s heart was racing and her pulse was heightened and my god, she had been pining for this for so long and now nothing else in the world mattered. All that mattered was here and now, and if the world erupted into storm and fire around them she wouldn’t have noticed or cared, because she was kissing Sharon and she had wanted to kiss this fucking girl ever since she was fifteen, serving girl or not.

They broke apart moments later, and Sharon’s eyes were wide with surprise and confusion. A torrent of hateful thoughts began to flood her brain and Willam didn’t know what to do other than stare.

“I have to go.” She blurted out, her stomach jolting so horribly that she was sure she was going to vomit. As quick as she could she bolted away, leaving Sharon alone in the grass, certain she had ruined any kind of friendship they had managed to build up over the years. It had always been on tenterhooks and just as Sharon was at her most vulnerable, Willam had ruined everything with a kiss that she didn’t even want and that was it, friendship over, and every day for here out was going to be an utter nightmare all because Willam’s heart wouldn’t stop flipping and somersaulting at the thought of Sharon, all because her hands snaked south when she pictured Sharon as she had done in the barn, her breasts exposed and her skin shining with sweat, lying beneath her in Alaska’s position.

Everything, ruined, because of one stupid kiss.

God. Willam hated Sharon.

–

Twenty one. Six months passed, Willam turned twenty one, and Sharon was pretty much nowhere to be seen. Willam heard from another servant that she was taking some of the dirtier jobs, checking the dungeons and scrubbing the kitchen floors, so she wasn’t tending to Willam and helping her get dressed and making her laugh anymore.

It was official, Willam had ruined everything. The only time she saw Sharon was to spar with her, which they still did, but Sharon was nothing other than a teacher, harsh and ruthless and blunt, but never laughing, never smiling. She was closed off and distant and this, this must’ve been what heartbreak felt like because the pain in Willam’s chest never left. Their sparring conversations were brief but it was something, and Willam would do anything just to bring back their old laughter.

It was still agonising to spend so much time watching Sharon grow sweaty and breathless and to watch her muscles flexing as she demonstrated moves Willam could only hope of learning to do. Willam loved the tightness and the seriousness of her face as much as she loved when it was full of laughter and light, so at least she still had that to fall back on.

Loved. God, she had it bad.

It was January, a freezing cold winter, and Willam was winning a fight. Contrary to what she had expected, this victory didn’t make her feel good whatsoever. Sharon wasn’t even trying, and Willam understood that they weren’t on the best of terms right now, but this was just downright insulting. She didn’t need some stupid fake victory to boost her self-esteem.

“Fucking hell,” She swore, lunging at Sharon and cursing as she dodged poorly and ended up being struck squarely in the shoulder. “You’re seriously out of shape. I’ve barely even broken a sweat and you look like you’re about to pass out.”

She swept her leg in a smooth circle - a move that Sharon had spent weeks teaching her and had perfected the dodge for. Instead of leaping over it, which Willam knew Sharon was capable of, the strike threw her to the ground and knocked all the air out of her lungs. Willam was painfully reminded of when they had first met, at thirteen, and that image gripped at her heart. Instantly, she knelt beside Sharon, who hadn’t moved.

“I’m fine.” She croaked. “Out of practise.”

“Bullshit.” Willam swore again. “Someone like you doesn’t just get out of practise. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Sharon denied vehemently. “Willam, I’m fine. You won, I’m proud of you.”

The fight had been more like a warmup than anything else, so Willam started to get concerned. Sharon’s face was pale and glistening with a sheen of sweat where, as she’d previously taunted, Willam’s was dry. Slightly worried, she pressed a hand to Sharon’s forehead and hissed.

“Jesus fuck, Sharon. You’re sick. Why the hell are you out here fighting with me if you’re sick?”

Sharon struggled to her feet, swaying slightly as though she were drunk. “I’m not sick.”

“Sure. I’m not a princess, either. Sharon Needles, you’re sick. Come with me, now.”

Before Sharon could protest, Willam held up a hand to silence her. “I hate to do this, Sharon, and you know it, but as a princess, I have a right to command you to do as I see fit, and right now I see it fit that you take my coat and put it on, and walk with me to the palace so that I can get you inside and get you warm. At no point during this will you protest against what I have told you. Understood?”

Sharon grumbled, and Willam raised an eyebrow.

Then she cracked a smile and started to lead Sharon back to the palace.

Neither of them talked about their interlocked fingers. Sharon was cold, and being cold was the worst for anyone who was sick. Willam was simply warming her up, preventing her from getting any sicker. Anyone would’ve done it.

Once they made it into Willam’s bedchambers, somehow miraculously unseen by anyone who would go tattling to a governess (which Willam didn’t need, being twenty one and no longer in need of an education, yet still had), she stripped away the coat and handed Sharon one of her silky nightgowns.

Sharon stared at her.

“Come on, bitch, I know you’re not stupid. This is a dress worn in bed. Put the damn thing on.” She watched Sharon expectantly.

“In front of you?” Her voice was thick, now, clear evidence that despite whatever she claimed, she was most definitely sick.

Willam shrugged. “You’ve dressed me hundreds of times, get your clothes off and get this on. I’m going to call on the kitchen real quick, when I get back you better have the dress on and be tucked in bed, got it? No complaints, hop to it.”

Sharon opened her mouth to protest, but judging by the sudden wince, her throat was too sore to say anything in response, and Willam darted out to speak to someone who could relay a message to the kitchen. She asked for hot soup and broth and tea and bread, trying to think of anything she could that might make Sharon feel better. Camomile went on the list, as did peppermint. Perhaps it was a little excessive, but Willam really, really cared about Sharon, and she knew winters could be cruel.

Her heart nearly melted when she re-entered the room, taking the tray from the young servant and opting to carry it in herself. Not only did Sharon look beyond beautiful in her dress, flattering her figure better than Willam had seen on anyone else, she looked ridiculously sweet and helpless in the middle of her huge bed, huddled beneath the layers of sheets.

Willam smiled tenderly, happy that the kitchen had honoured her strange request of a slightly damp, cold flannel to go with the assortment of teas and broths. She placed it on Sharon’s head to attempt to relieve her fever, ignoring her protests of how cold she was.

“I know, I know. I got sick last winter and it was horrible.” Willam told her, stroking her hair. “Here, have some of this tea. Drink it slowly, I think it will help.”

Having lost the energy to fight, Sharon just did as she was told. The tip of her nose had turned a rosy pink and Willam wanted nothing more than to kiss it.

“Sit with me.” Came her request, whispered so quietly and yet registering in Willam’s mind as though she had shouted it from the rooftops for the whole kingdom to hear. “Please.”

She was truly unable to say no. Without another thought, Willam slipped underneath the covers beside Sharon, who was absurdly warm and soft and jesus christ Willam had thought about this scenario so many times and it wasn’t happening how she had imagined it and yet still, somehow, Sharon was in her bed and she was a warm soft weight and really, what else mattered?

Sharon shuffled close and lay her head on Willam’s shoulder, and it was all she could do not to explode into a million tiny pieces.

“You know, I thought I had ruined everything when - when I kissed you.” She found herself saying, almost tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. “I ran because I was so sure you hated me for doing that to you, especially right after Alaska…”

She caught herself before things got too personal. “Then I hardly saw you and it just confirmed my fears and I’m so, so sorry. Sharon, I care about you way too much to hurt you like that, and it’s so confusing to me. Sometimes I swear I hate you just because I don’t understand why I like you so much.”

Sharon snuffled, nestling closer to Willam. “I thought you hated me.” Sharon replied sleepily, and somehow the proximity of their two bodies was right, as though two jigsaw pieces had perfectly slotted together. “I was scared to come by you in case… in case you didn’t want to see me.”

“I always want to see you.” Willam reassured her, and then bit her lip from how forward it was. “I mean… I never know what to say around you. I’ve never wanted anyone to like me so much in my life. Our friendship has always meant so much to me, and the thought of ruining it…”

“Liked it.” Sharon murmured, her words becoming more and more nonsensical as she drifted into a sleepy trance. “Liked when you kissed me… always been pretty…”

Willam chuckled softly, careful not to jostle Sharon too much. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Thank you for the tea… and the bed… and the cuddle…” Sharon told her, and it was so fucking sweet that Willam could’ve cried. “Love you…”

Willam kissed the tip of her nose. Sharon fell asleep in her arms and it was exactly where she was meant to be.

It was a weird relationship. All Willam knew was that she loved Sharon so, so fucking much.

#rpdr fanfiction #sharon needles #willam belli #alaska thunderfuck #shillam #fic challenge #purecamp #rare pair #lesbian au #royalty au

[rubberduckyrye]

Sorry that it took me a while to get to these; I’ve been very low energy and am still low energy so apologies for that!

As for Marie, her real name is Olivia (her stage name is Marie Annette) and yes, it’s a pun, because she is the Ultimate Marionettist. You can ask more about her @aroseandapen since she is L’s muse.

However, Marie’s plot wasn’t created so she could run away from the consequences of her actions--in actuality, they’re much more sinister. You see, the basic idea we have right now is that a certain someone knew about the chapter 3 blackened before they murdered the second victim, but was being blackmailed into silence--because they had a secret they would rather die for than let get loose. However, this lead to Marie’s friend/lover/family/whatever idk we haven’t decided that part yet, get killed as the second victim. After learning about that person’s involvement, Marie gets furious and blames them, but everyone pretty much forgives them once they understand. All but Jaden, who while he does understand their motives, also understands that Marie is still hurt by them and it did cause the death of someone else, and at least had mixed feelings about it and made the mistake of expressing this to Marie.

That was a huge mistake, because Marie then decided that everyone but Jaden should live, and then she was presented with the opportunity to force Jaden into a blackened role. She then makes sure he couldn’t communicate the fact that he was he blackened (as he tried to leave evidence in the form of his glasses at the crime scene, but Marie figured him out quickly and ordered him not to be sneaky about it and not let anyone know) and yeah. Marie basically made Jaden into a blackened not to escape from punishment, but to punish everyone (including herself) and let Jaden go free.

This, of course, backfires, but that’s probably why Marie had Jaden kill that specific classmate. Because at least that person would be dead if her plan failed.

The worst part is that Marie is a pretty good person before this, too, which makes the betrayal so much more impactful.

I can give you a little backstory on Adrian, Jaden, and Irene if you like! I have those written out, so;

Adrian Blanc, the Ultimate Dilettante;

Adrian’s life was pretty mundane and average. They grew up in the middle class, had a normal life with their normal family and normal friends. There was nothing extra ordinary about them, nothing to report. The only thing that caught anyone’s attention, in fact, was how intelligent and sharp Adrian was.

Adrian has the Ultimate Analysis ability, and with their ADHD, tend to hyperfixate on different subjects of all kinds (I.E. Art, music, writing, math, science, mechanics, you name it)  but before they could master any skill, Adrian would always give up, claiming that they had grown too bored of the trade to continue. Adrian became known in their little town as “the renaissance child” or “the jack of all trades,” and would often take on small jobs and favors from neighbors to complete a mundane task. However, they were never talented enough to get a stable job from professionals of the craft, being told that their mediocre skills weren’t enough to qualify for anything.

One day, Adrian’s popularity in their hometown got out to the bigger name cities, and they were asked to star on a talk show and display their many mediocre talents.

Impressed by their wide array of skills, the American Ultimate Initiative contacted Adrian to ask them if they wanted to attend the American Hope’s Peak Academy as “The Ultimate Dilettante.” Hesitantly, Adrian agreed, though is uncomfortable with their title.

Adrian is insecure over their lack of mastering any single talent, and feels as if their “Ultimate Title” can feel like someone was mocking them for it. After all, in the modern professional world, a “Jack of all trades” was pretty useless.

Jaden Holland, the Ultimate Digital Artist;

The Holland family is a black, progressive family that consists of Jaden’s mother (Agatha), Jaden’s elder sister (Jayleen), Jaden’s elder brother (Glenn) and Jaden himself, and a small dog named Juniper. (You can ask L more about Jayleen and Glenn)

Jaden’s father left their family when Jaden was just born, so his mother and his elder sister were the ones who mostly raised Glenn and Jaden. With Agatha working in the police force and their overall family ideals being liberal, Jaden grew up more socially aware and expressive early on. However, when he was a young child, Jaden was attacked by a large mixed breed stray dog, which left grotesque scars on his neck and unable to use his vocal chords. Ever since, he has been wearing high-collared shirts and turtle necks to hide them, embarrassed and ashamed of the scars. He also found that whispering could be painful at times, so he and his family learned sign language.

Aside from that traumatic event, Jaden lived a relatively calm life, and he took interest in digital art soon after the attack. He begged his mother for a pen tablet, and kick started his talent in the digital arts. Jaden has posted over one-thousand pieces of art under the user “Silenced-Arts.” He became quite a popular artist over time, and soon, he was written about in newspapers and online articles as “the boy who can paint a photo,” which was a reference to Jaden’s typical art style being hyper-realistic paintings of surreal scenes that people often would often mistake as photos or edited photos. This caused a bit of controversy until Jaden learned how to use Hypercam and other screen-recording software, and posted various drawing videos that immediately made him an even more popular artist on youtube and all over the web.

Jaden expanded his skills to different forms of digital art, such as 3D modeling and 2D/3D animation. However, he is most comfortable and skilled with painting and drawing.

His skills and talent grew until finally, just before his second year of high school, Jaden was scouted by the American Hopes Peak Academy as the Ultimate Digital Artist for a student film that was all animated but was 100% painted and hyper realistic.

Jaden has a special pair of gloves made by “A friend of a friend” (hint: It Miu) that has special sensors that can translate his signing to American English, and has a speaker that projects a voice resting in his breast pocket. This idea is loosely based off of this amazing keyboard “glove” where each unique hand gesture represents a unique letter. It relies on the same principle, except using ASL gestures and a blue tooth “text to speech” speaker. The speaker sounds as fluid and human as K1-B0’s voice, and the gloves have sensors to change the “tone” of his voice and mimic the emotion he wants to convey. (Jaden has the bonus of being able to manually select an emotion with gestures that are unique but do not mean anything in ASL, such as double tapping your thumb and index finger together... well unless that is a thing in sign language, I’m not sure.)

Jaden’s older brother, Glenn, is a member of D.I.C.E. as a fire dancer.

Irene Foster, the Ultimate Street Fighter;

Irene was a runaway orphan, originally born into a wealthy family. Her parents were always busy with work, so Irene was typically left to her own devices or kept busy with random lessons that varied from piano lessons to fencing. However, her parents were assassinated due to her father’s business company making enemies in the wrong places. The assassin didn’t kill Irene, only because of the guilt that he pretty much just made this girl into an orphan. (He wasn’t very good at being an assassin.)

Irene then ran away from Britain to New York City by stowing away on an airplane, and ran away from foster homes that took her in until she started getting into fights. Eventually, underground criminal rings for street fighting took an interest in her, and this earned her access to an underground street fighting ring. She was a natural fighter (though often feeling like she was fighting for her very life) and quickly earned a living off of her matches.

Eventually, she came across a house just outside of the city that had caught on fire. Among the flames was a little girl named Erin Rider, holding a teddy bear in one hand and a lighter in the other. After a little prying, Irene learned that Erin was a victim of constant abuse from her parents, and she thought she could burn the house down and run away. Erin is unaware that she killed her parents in the house fire and assumes they thought she died and never looked for her. Irene never had the heart to tell Erin that she killed her own parents, and instead, decided to take care of the little girl as her own sister. She decided it would be a secret she took with her to her grave.

With another mouth to feed, however, Irene had to take on more challenges to earn money enough for both her and Erin to eat, and eventually, Irene became known in the underground ring as “The Girl of Iron.” This caught the attention of the American Ultimate Initiative, and Irene earned her title as the “Ultimate Street Fighter.”

Now just for you, I’ll go ahead and type out Leah’s back story to the best of my ability because why not:

Leah Welsh, the Ultimate Hunter/Huntress;

Leah was disowned by her parents at the age of 13, once she finally confessed to them that their son, Orlando, didn’t exist anymore and wanted to be a girl named Leah. The transphobic backlash from her parents came as a genuine, horrifying shock to Leah, and she immediately ran away to her grandfather Orrin’s house to explain what happened. Being a far more open minded man and far more liberal, he disowned his own child and took Leah in as his own, and decided to move from Ireland to the United States to further distance them from the horrible people that were Leah’s parents.

Orrin was a skilled hunter, and not being able to leave a young Leah by herself, he decided to take her with him. Leah took an interest in hunting, and Orrin started teaching her--and much to his surprise, Leah took the lessons extremely well, and within just a few years, was a master hunter that surpassed even his own skills. They even traveled to Australia and Africa for some legal hunting.

However, Orrin was old, and he eventually passed away from old age when Leah was sixteen. Saddened but not discouraged, Leah started hunting game to make a profit as a survival tactic.

Eventually, Leah was called by a secret service of the government and taken into custody to be given an offer. A huge sum of money for using her hunting skills for an assassination--a very corrupt man who dealt with human trafficking, terrorism, and other criminal activities that made him too dangerous. However, every previous assassination attempt lead to failure due to the men and woman being official government figures and there being a rat in the government. They needed someone who could pull off the assassination who was unsuspecting and didn’t have a face int he underground criminal ring. Leah hesitantly accepted the offer.

She was sent to Australia for her target, since he was on a vacation there with his family. It was a very simple job, in actuality, and she used a sniper rifle in the wilderness to kill her target when he was having a picnic break with his family after stalking him for several nights. Unfortunately, Leah may have mentally prepared for his death and telling herself he deserved it for being such a monster, but she didn’t mentally prepare herself for the family’s reaction to his assassination. Leah went home that very same night with the screams still ringing in her ears.

A few months later, Leah learned that the wife of the corrupted man had killed her two children and then herself. As much as Leah tried, she couldn’t get the incident out of her head, and she decided to hunt some deer to distract herself from it, only to shoot a deer and it’s cry immediately triggering her. Immediately after the incident with the deer, Leah realized all at once that she was ending lives, killing creatures with families and futures that she stole away, and in her grief and trauma, Leah became completely vegan and vouched to never hunt again, nor kill any living, breathing creature.

A month later, Leah received an invitation from the American Hope’s Peak to be “The Ultimate Hunter”. With no job or any way to make money, Leah had no choice but to accept, but the title was more like a huge slap in the face than an honor to have.

#The 49th Killing Game #Leah Welsh #Jaden Holland #Adrian Blanc #Irene Foster

[telltalebatman]

@biformers let’s go

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? wine glasses, they make everything seem so... elegant

2. chocolate bars or lollipops? lollipops!! they don’t melt in the sun and when i pull them out of my mouth they make that POP sound. very good.

3. bubblegum or cotton candy? bubblegum, last time i checked i couldn’t make cotton candy balloons

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? bright and bubbly and curious and energetic. very energetic. too energetic. mister crispin, please, your daughter is way too energetic, the school’s gonna expl-

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? wine glasses. (that’s not an- well, it is now.)

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? pastel and formal, but mostly formal.......... formal clothes make me look super nice. (so do pastel ones. well, i look 12 in pastels.)

7. earbuds or headphones? earbuds can he shared, so... earbuds.

8. movies or tv shows? movies for watching with someone, tv shows for watching alone. sometimes it’s the other way. sometimes it’s neither.

9. favorite smell in the summer? raspberry lemonade, freshly cut grass, and uh... oswald. yes, that’s a smell. he smells nice in summer. in fact he smells nice all the time, but he smells best during the summer.

10. game you were best at in p.e.? i was never good at anything p.e related........ i’m good at yoga i guess.

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? w a f f l e s. shit, i’m hungry now. oswald! i want waffles!

12. name of your favorite playlist? kiss me hard, fuck me harder, love me hardest (what? you heard me. i did, i’m just... what? is this a suggestion? a hint? :) )

13. lanyard or key ring? i’m gonna go with “not attaching my keys to anything and losing them all in my purse”.

14. favorite non-chocolate candy? those little, chewy, caramel candies that make your teeth stick together.

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? do i look like a girl who had ever read a book in her life? (you got a master’s degree. ...kristeva’s “powers of horror”.)

16. most comfortable position to sit in? with my legs crossed.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes? those!

18. ideal weather? warm and sunny, so oswald has an excuse to keep a ton of ice cubes in the freezer, so that he can- she likes it when it’s hot, so she has an excuse to devour buckets of ice cream. and also wear short skirts. that’s coincidentally also /my/ favorite weather.

19. sleeping position? preferably wrapped around oswald, if not available... i like to take as much space in bed as possible. on my stomach. limbs spread.

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? notebook app on my phone

21. obsession from childhood? z-zorro.............

22. role model? if i had a role model i wouldn’t be the person i am.

23. strange habits? none! i’m perfectly normal. the normalest girl in gotham.

24. favorite crystal? see? i’m normal. i don’t have a favorite crystal.

25. first song you remember hearing? not a song, but an instrumental piece. something by tchaikovsky. my mom used to listen to tchaikovsky after work.

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather? swimming. and sitting around and complaining it’s too hot.

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather? ; )

28. five songs to describe you? you should ask oswald that one. i bet he’ll have a good answer. (sweet talking woman, a girl like you, how to be a heartbreaker, gold dust woman and fear and delight. what? of course i know how to describe charlie with songs. i can describe her in any way.)

29. best way to bond with you? feed me and have sex with me. not neccesarily in that exact order. wink.

30. places that you find sacred? i wouldn’t have sex on anyone’s grave, if that’s what you’re asking.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? i’m gonna be honest with you. what part of me suggests i’m capable of KICKING ASS or TAKING NAMES? oswald once called me a silly girl and i cried. (well, love, to be fair, you /did/ spend quite some time on the road.) and to this day i don’t know how did i manage to not die after a week. idk. i guess... pants, that’s for starters. a leather jacket. biker boots? and also a gun and a knife.

32. top five favorite vines? i like pink wine. are there even that many kinds of pink wine?

33. most used phrase in your phone? omg

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? aNIMAL CRACKERS IN MY SOUP-

35. average time you fall asleep? two a.m

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? can i haz a cheeseburger...

37. suitcase or duffel bag? suitcase, duffel bags don’t work well for... well... people who wear clothes.

38. lemonade or tea? yes.

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie? yes.

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? one of my teachers had straight up died when i was answering his question in class. i still don’t know if my answer was correct. :(

41. last person you texted? louise!! she’s such a good friend. i love her.

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? oswald’s pockets.

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? leather jacket

44. favorite scent for soap? bubblegum, duh

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero? superhero, and not just because my boyfriend is a literal supervillain.

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? none. ; )

47. favorite type of cheese? sharp cheddar

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? a strawberry! sweet and red and begging for c-

49. what saying or quote do you live by? “there’s bravery in being soft”.

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? someone once tweeted a picture of oswald, challenging batman to a fistfight, captioned “i aspire to 1 day have self-esteem this high #blessed”. 

51. current stresses? yes.

52. favorite font? do... do people have favorite fonts? huh.

53. what is the current state of your hands? soft and clean, thank you very much. (i punch people so charlie doesn’t have to cook. it... makes sense, i swear.)

54. what did you learn from your first job? do i look like a person who had ever worked a day in her entire life? do i /sound/ like i ever had a job? no. no, i don’t.

55. favorite fairy tale? beauty and the beast!

56. favorite tradition? don’t tell oswald i said it, but i’m kind of sort of fond of that traditionalist concept of men being dominant and assertive and capable. or maybe i just like not having to do anything, who knows.

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? well, first my parents died, then it turned out my then-husband was behind it and THEN i almost died because a man cut my heart out and attempted to eat it on my mother’s grave. and he didn’t even cook it! (and for that i am eternally glad.)

58. four talents you’re proud of having? i have zero talents. (that’s not true, but she firmly refuses to believe me when i say so. let’s go with talents charlie SHOULD be proud of. she can read people, behave properly in any given situation, is a fantastic listener... oh, and she’s a fantastic, caring, loveable girlfriend.) that’s not a talent. (but if it was, you’d be the best at it.)

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? “OH!”. i say that approximately... 100 times a day.

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? a shoujo anime, with little to no actual drama and a hentai spin-off.

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? i... hm. ah. hm. i don’t know. i knew the answer 30 seconds ago - but now it’s gone. please don’t ask me about my favorite things. i only know what those are when no one’s trying to learn about them.

62. seven characters you relate to? persephone, beauty from beauty and the beast, emma frost, sleeping beauty, triss merigold, that absolutely brainless blonde boy from kingdom hearts aaaand... sakhmet from the wicked and the divine comic. not because i’m bloodthirsty, but because i too prioritize sex and looking good.

63. five songs that would play in your club? bulletproof, six shooter, tongues, horns and bittersweet

64. favorite website from your childhood? absolutely do not tell oswald, but... club penguin.

65. any permanent scars? what, you mean physical, or mental? because there’s one on my chest and one on my heart. both are permanent and can’t be loved away, even though oswald’s doing his best to love them away. : (

66. favorite flower(s)? red roses... i’m not a very original person.

67. good luck charms? oswald once gave me a gun. so... a gun.

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? anything pear-flavored. pears are the devil’s fruit.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? parmesan isn’t vegetarian.

70. left or right handed? right. and i didn’t just pick up a random pencil only to make sure of that.

71. least favorite pattern? the behavioral pattern of constantly repeating one’s mistakes. (i... think they meant things like polka dots.) but do you have any proof of that? no. no, you don’t. so... repeating one’s mistakes it is then.

72. worst subject? politics. :)

73. favorite weird flavor combo? spicy chicken wings dipped in honey.

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen? 4 or 5. i’m a big baby when it comes to physical pain.

75. when did you lose your first tooth? do most people remember losing their first tooth? because i don’t. at all.

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? french fries french fries french fries FRENCH FRIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill? basil. i like the smell... and forgetting to water my plants.

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store? gas station coffee. sushi has to be... well... good to be good.

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo? they both look the same, because i’ve been cursed with the curse of “eternally looking like i’m twelve” :(

80. earth tones or jewel tones? jewel. and not just because i don’t know the difference between those two.

81. fireflies or lightning bugs? ...are you telling me fireflies and lightning bugs... are two different things? huh.

82. pc or console? pc, because i can do my taxes on my pc. can you do taxes on a console? of course you can’t, that’d be stupid.

83. writing or drawing? writing.

84. podcasts or talk radio? podcasts!

84. barbie or polly pocket? b a r b i e

85. fairy tales or mythology? hm. fairy tales, because there’s less... rape in them.

86. cookies or cupcakes? yes.

87. your greatest fear? i’m not saying! my greatest fears tend to become reality, so maybe let’s not speed the process up.

88. your greatest wish? i,,,,,,,,,,,,, i’d like to maybe get married once again one day,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, maybe,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

89. who would you put before everyone else? the man on whom i’m sitting as we speak.

90. luckiest mistake? well, i once told bruce wayne i have a dog named pingu, which lead me to instantly adopting an actual dog.

91. boxes or bags? boxes

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? fairy lights forever

93. nicknames? love it when people come up with nicknames for me!

94. favorite season? summer

95. favorite app on your phone? proooobably instagram. or twitter.

96. desktop background? a photo of a baby seal. it’s so cute!

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized? ...do people really memorize phone numbers? 

98. favorite historical era? okay, now you’re making fun of me. no one has a “favorite historical era”. that’s made up.

#4.txt #charlie

[taytei]

Beast boy lance is the most perfect thing in the universe and you do it so wow. Thank you for improving this world one thousand percent

beast boy and lance are straight up two of my favorite characters in existence, i just can’t believe it took me this long to see the connection

nothing planned out but it’s pretty inevitable that i’m gonna draw more (i already have Allura sketched out as starfire cause jesus cheeses it’s actually a perfect match, i just haven’t polished it up enough for me to feel comfortable sharing) I also really wanna figure out how Pidge fits into it cause Hunk is definitely more of a cyborg character, but i considered having them … both? be cyborg like characters? idk yet, she could just be silkie and leave it at that

I’m a huge believer that Lance is a shark-rights-activist, like the kind of dude that would chain himself to a live shark to if it would save its life if you get what i mean

one of my friends and i were working on a fic where Lance got his leg bit off by a shark, and instead of fearing them, he wanted to help make sure people stopped demonizing them and understand them a little better. She’s also the one that gave me the idea to use Lance’s exes/past crushes to name his animals

I really only have a vague idea from watching speed paints and livestreams but … generally yea? I just gave a pretty low detail sketch, put that on low opacity, and then colored underneath the layer

As long as you’re not like … directly taking blatant ideas from it, i’m totally fine with it?? i encourage fic writing cause i believe the whole point of being an artist is to inspire others to also create so please do

both boys cuddle sharp toothed predators and ITS WHAT THEY DESERVE

LET THEM BE CHERISHED AND LOVED AND PROTECTED BY CREATURES THAT WOULD ACTUALLY MAUL ANOTHER PERSON FOR HURTING THEM

sajksa yea that light blue text was just so i could lay out where the words were and i completely forgot to delete the layer. I noticed as soon as i posted it but i was too lazy to do anything about it

and don’t worry i couldn’t write a multi-chaptered fic, or even a solid one shot if i wanted to

and thank you!!! ❤️❤️

#taytei talks #asks #anon #miinyya #spacestar8 #onimi18 #starwarsdragons #thatquirkydragon